


Alterum Non Laedere

by Nicolinan



Series: ANL-series [2]
Category: Red Eye (2005)
Genre: Angst, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Canada, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Murder, Pain, Sex, Snow, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 64,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolinan/pseuds/Nicolinan
Summary: Sometimes life takes a turn for the unexpected. For Lisa and Jackson it was the new life they had created.After all the pain. How do you go on?





	1. The Little Life

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings for rape this time, just a lot of violence, and death.

I shake the bottle and then let a couple of drops fall on the inside of my wrist. The content is warm, but not hot. It's close to perfect. A grunting from the little bed at the back of the other room makes me smile.

"I'm coming, honey." I jump off the kitchen counter where I've been sitting while preparing her evening snack and walk the few feet to her. Looking down at the expectant, bright blue eyes that sparkle when she sees me, my heart fills with tenderness.

"Mama," she gurgles. "Angwy."

"I know you're hungry, baby. Look what Mommy's got." I beam back at her and wiggle the bottle before her. My little Cecilia, my Cece, waves chubby hands in the air and tries to fetch my arm. 

"Impatient, are you? Come here." I lift her and she molds into my embrace as I lower us together down on the bed. The night is just right. It's absolutely quiet in the cabin and slightly chilly, but we're good under our blanket. My daughter lies beside me and sighs contentedly as she gulps down the lukewarm contents. I listen to the sound of her swallowing and to the low cracking noises from the tree outside as one of its branches repeatedly hit the far side of the house. I need to cut that thing down one of these days, but at the same time it has almost come to be a friend. Something I recognize, that I can trust to always be there, and that won't hurt me. It's normalcy. One of many things surrounding me that I consider normal, that I need to be normal.

I look at my beautiful daughter and caress her forehead.

Cecilia Joely Reisert.

Joely to commemorate her late granddad, Cecilia because it's pretty, and Reisert… because she is one. She's nothing else, just fully, completely a Reisert, stemming from a long tradition of proud, unyielding women.

Her eyes are drowsy. She'll be sleeping any minute now. I hear a gurgling, sucking noise from the bottle and without looking at it I know it's empty. It falls to the side as she drops it. Her eyelids flutter and I realize that I should have had her eat earlier so that I would have had time to brush her teeth. Now I don't want to bother her in her sleep. 

But all in all that’s just a tiny issue, and I know which battles to fight and which to shrug at. 

I dip my nose in the angle where her neck meets the shoulder and inhale deeply, relishing her wonderful powdery baby scent. Then I stroke her silky brown hair and smile. This is what keeps me going. This is what makes me want to live.

Cecilia stirs when I get up, but she doesn't wake. She'll sleep solidly now until four in the morning when she'll have her regular night fright, then she'll sleep until eight when we both wake and our daily routine begins again. One day I know I'll have to return to the world. When she’s grown a a little older. When she needs to start socialising with other children When it’s not fair of me to deprive her of her life.

I wash the bottle, scalding water and a little detergent, shake the drops out of it and place it upside down on the counter. Then I dry my hands on the kitchen towel as I stare at the pitch black window, seeing nothing but my own reflection. Anything could be out there. Everything  _ is _ out there. Like so many times before, I see two gleaming blue eyes before me. Then I blink and they're gone.

I hope that day is still very far away.

Turning off the light, I cross the living room, aiming for my old armchair. Still flowery, still soft. It's been with me for a long time. I didn't take much with me when we moved up here, but this was one of the few objects from my old life that I kept. I have a fireplace. I have a huge pile of books, many of them read once already, or even twice, even more still unread. I have a small house and a huge SUV that’s very, very fast if needed. 

I have my daughter.

I don't have a TV, only a radio and a CD-player . I don't have a phone. I'v e made friends with some people that are good to know downtown. The hardware dealer, the grocery store owner, a carpenter and his wife, but they never come here, I've asked them not to and they are still with me because they haven't asked questions. They have no idea who I really am. To them we're just Lisa and Cecilia Reed and we're running from my abusive husband. It's not a lie, not entirely, it's just tweaking the truth a bit.

_ He  _ doesn't have the right to this child, does he?

He doesn't.

_ No _ , he doesn't.

And god knows he _ is  _ abusive. I clench my teeth at the thought, and then shake it off. Water under the bridge. 

My hand hovers over the book that I'm currently reading, but then I look at my journal and immediately stretch to pick it up instead. It's heavy in my hands. Or, no, it's not really heavy, it's the content that's heavy. Sad. Dark as the night outside the four walls that shields us from the cold. Opening the book, I take out the pen from between the pages of my last entry .

' _ November 10 2007. _

_ He has no right. He has no right to see my baby. Am I afraid of what he'd do if he ever found us?’ _

I feel guilt. I know I shouldn't, but still I do. Cece will never know a father, she will never experience the close and loving relation that I did with my own dad. But hers is a dangerous creature, not quite human, unreal in his hate and fury.  _ Very _ unsuitable. I lift the pen from the paper and glance at the shotgun that hangs next to the front door. Always ready, always loaded.

I shouldn't feel any guilt. It's for the better.

' _ Probably, yeah.' _

I have replayed our last encounter in my mind so many times that I don't even know anymore what really happened and what are the fruits of my imagination. Were my wounds real? The bleeding, the bruises and the scrapes. No one ever saw them, did they really exist? He almost killed me, but at the same time I remember such a vivid knowledge deep inside that he wouldn't. That he, in his own twisted way, wanted me. In a sickening, selfish, perverted way. Just not dead.

I remember a lot of pain. A  _ lot _ . During… and after… I spit blood-tinged saliva, my eyes were bloodshot, I cried from the pain every time I swallowed, and I was sore down there. But I don't remember for how long. I can't for my life recall the details of how he… how we… how he forced me. I understand that he must've… gone all the way. Because of Cecilia. My daughter. She was conceived that night, which is a weird thing, that something so beautiful can come out of something, someone, so awful.

I can't remember. It scares me.

' _ It would be a disaster. If he knew where we were, if he found us. I think I'd rather kill us both than let him lay his hands on me, on us, again. If I can't kill him first, that is.' _

I haven't cried a day since I found out I was carrying Cece. Before that, though, I cried my heart out in my isolation. I was so alone. I didn't want anyone to know of my shame. Once was enough and I couldn't do it again, the whole investigation, interrogation thing.

Does my memory serve me right when I remember regret? The almost palpable pain that oozed off of him late that night… After… That night. The night that divided me into Lisa before and Lisa after, separated me from the living, crushed me. The final pillar pulled out of the already damaged building, like a blast from a bomb, making it topple and fall.

I put down the pen and flick through the pages, quicker past the darker times. I flip back and forth, dreading to catch a glimpse of even one wrong word.

_ Why do I even do this? Why can't I put it to rest _ ?

But I know why. I live in limbo. Still. The protective shell I once carried inside me is corrupt and I have built an artificial one, surrounding me and my daughter on the outside, with our move, and our anonymity. I haven't moved on, I've just put the lid on, and I know, I KNOW, it's unfinished. The pain hasn't gone away and I don't know what it'll take, what I'll have to do. I just know I have to keep us safe, and that's all I do, all I can focus on or I’ll shatter.

I don't have to read it. I know so damn well what it says, almost in detail. The first note written some nights later, sleepless nights after Jackson visited me.

_ Raped me. _

I wince just thinking it, just from calling it by its correct word. I wish it hadn't been so. I wish it wasn't true. I still also see the man I first met, the warmth, that tiny flutter in my belly, and it’s so confusing.

' _ I have been wonded again. Very… very… HE came. With a knife. He cme to kill me. And then he… reped me.' _

Yes, that's what it says. I misspelled the words, and even the writing doesn't look like my own, and it was ink and I just couldn't go back and correct it. Instead I turned the page and kept pouring hurt all over innocent white paper. Then there are so many pages with blurry letters, the paper crumpled from dried tears and hasty words. Words about the meaninglessness of it all. Hateful words. The hate towards myself. Wishes of death.

And it goes on and on and on.

Then, a few weeks later, there suddenly aren't. The writing looks like mine again, I write of hope, of a blessing, of a need larger than my misery.

Cecilia.

And she looks terribly much like her father. Beautiful, unearthly beautiful. But it doesn't hurt, she isn't HIM, and she won't inherit anything of his malice because I will pour love over her, and keep her safe and happy. I won't let him touch her, not mentally, not physically. I'll never let him see the beauty his violence created. He doesn't deserve it. He can live in his pathetic existence. I don’t care. 

_ You can't have her. _

I stroke the book in my hands as I close it and then let it fall to the floor beside me. Not much is happening. I haven't got anything to write really. I consider it a good thing. I close my eyes and allow my head to fall back against the cushion.

I am so tired.

A piercing yell startles me. Rubbing my eyes I glance at the clock by the fireplace as I rise from the warmth of the chair to look to my baby. I didn't know time had flown by that quickly. Through the window a moonbeam hits a poor plant that I once had the ambition to care for. Now it needs not only caring, but resuscitation. Tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow. Or, well, tomorrow is today.

Cecilia is content with me tucking her in and I fall onto my own bed next to hers, exhausted, sad, my own ghosts haunting me like every night. I can't help it. I still feel his hands on my bared skin. I still see him before me as clearly as if he's standing in the room.

He still hurt.


	2. The Killer

His body shakes and twists as I shove the knife deeper into his chest, his arms flail and he reeks of sweat and fear. His cheap shirt is stained and crumpled. I've gotten blood on my sleeve and it infuriates me that this fat, ugly, low-life dares to soil  _ ME _ with his filthy blood. If he hadn't struggled so much this would've been over with by now. Looking at him, at his life, his place, I can't understand what makes him want to live at all.

_ Well, for fuck's sake, die already! _

A pale face and frightened eyes fixate on mine as he tries to get up off the floor and away from the rage that has fallen upon him for unknown reasons, to both him and me. His hands keep slipping in his own pool of blood and urine, all of his chins wobble, and the noises that emanate from deep down in his throat are pathetic. I don't know what he did wrong, or who he upset, and I don't give a shit. He's too old to be in the business, whatever his business was, but not too old to try to save himself.

I kick him in the chest and he falls over on his back, his eyes rolling, showing more bloodshot white than iris. Crouching next to his head, I cock my head and study my handiwork. He's a goner no matter what, but I never leave work half-done.  _ Almost never. _ I sneer and grab his head in a steel grip. He makes a terrified gargling sound and coughs blood just before I twist his neck sharply to the right, the crack loud and final.

He stills immediately, the battle over, his body twitch one more time before relaxing at last. I hold him for a moment longer, relishing in my superiority, my heart rate soon down to its normal beat.

It's over.

As I let go his head falls to the side, his eyes unseeing, his pupils dilated. He wouldn't have had to fight, it was just a waste of energy, the end result is always the same anyways.

Someone's demise. Blood on my hands.

Literally.

I know what they call me behind my back.  _ Jack the Ripper.  _ I know what I've become. What I didn't use to be.

A living nightmare.

I know they hate me. They even fear me. Even the very people who ask for my services and pay me well to do their dirty work.

And I don't fear fucking shit. When you've already lost it all you've got nothing to lose.

Before I stand I yank the knife out of his chest. The sound of metal grinding against his chest bone reminds me vaguely of chalk on a blackboard. I carefully wipe the blade on his psychedelically blue, pink, and red shirt until it's clean, leaving the piece of cloth even more eclectically tainted than before.

In the hallway I glance in the mirror once, checking for visible stains. There are none. None that I can't hide. I correct my shirt and sheath the blade, then I snap the rubber gloves off my hands and pocket them.

Without wasting another thought on the heap of flesh in the other room I listen out the corridor for a moment. Pulling my fingers through my hair, I then exit apartment 494 in an anonymous complex in yet another dull city.

Done deal.

::

**Nightly Thoughts**

I think of my father. It still hurts.

He died last year. The most common initial symptom of heart disease is sudden death. We never had a clue. Not until it was too late.

It was my fault of course. He always worried so much about me, too much, and I never let him in. I hated his worry because it made me seem weak and I refuse to think of myself as weak, as if I'm someone to worry about.

He died before I even had the chance to tell him I was pregnant.

It did save me from the issue of telling my overprotective dad that I was expecting a baby and that there was no father. But it crushed me nonetheless. I'd rather have had him yelling and barking than the pale, frightening silence in a bed in a private hospital. He wasn't even really there. I was so afraid to see him, even though I knew I had to. And when I got there, my mouth dry and my knees weak, he wasn't even in the room. Someone vaguely reminding of him lay there, one a white bed, but my dad didn't have such sunken features and a caved-in mouth. My dad was strong and alive, funny and serious, intelligent and compassionate.

And worried too much.

I have a feeling he went away right before he died and that he is still out there somewhere, looking out for us, guarding us. I hope he is. We need it.

_ Dad, I need you. _

There's a lot less written in my diary from those first months after his death. Then I started getting really pregnant, as in mentally unable to think of anything but nesting. So I resigned from The Lux. I simply quit. It was easier than I'd have thought even a few months earlier. Pleasing the lot of spoiled, rich, annoying people didn't hold the same appeal as it once had and it felt increasingly wrong. I had to do something before I had a breakdown at work and seriously wounded someone.

Literally.

I inherited some money. He had savings and Mom helped me sell the house. If I use them wisely they'll support my little family of two for as long as needed and more. So I bought the cabin and we moved to Canada. We live right across the border, on a clear day I can probably see all the way to the other side, but I don't look for it, and it feels a lot safer somehow, not staying in the same country any more as him.

Him.

A flash of blue. A sting of pain. A note on my kitchen table one night with an anonymous PO Box number.

-

' _ I'm Sorry. In case you ever need me.' _

_ - _

I knew he was around. I felt it. I knew he wouldn't have the audacity to approach us. I was wrong. I dodge the thought, the memory of it all. 

I'm good at that.

::

**Just a Girl**

As I jog down the four floors from the dead guy's apartment, my mind at ease and my steps light, I meet a woman and a small girl. They hold hands and make it slowly up the stairs; the little girl is dressed in a pink skirt and a red jacket. She's maybe a year and a half, or two years old at the most. I'm good with attention to details, but my experience with children is limited to say the least. 

They're in the middle of a conversation and bits and pieces of it reach me as I fly past them.

I shoot off a disarming smile to the mother, I've found that people tend to rationalize when they remember things. They won't remember a pleasant experience in connection with something unpleasant. She won't connect me with the gruesome murder in her house that she will soon know about. The plump, mousy-haired woman smiles back and her cheeks blush and then we're past each other. I've already forgotten about her when I hear a familiar word.

A name.

"…Lisa…"

I almost miss the next step and have to lengthen my stride in order not to fall. I can't breathe; my heart pounds and my knees feel awkwardly much like jelly. I'm out of the building and slip around the corner in a matter of seconds. My car is just on the other side of the railroad. I just have to make it across the parking lot and through a tunnel, but my head spins and I'm barely able to control the nausea that rises and sinks within me.

I fall back against a concrete wall and breathe deeply, my neck suddenly slick with sweat. "Get a grip, Jack," I snarl to myself between clenched teeth. Slowly the dizziness subsides and I start towards the car with efficient strides. I don't know what did it this time. That little kid could've been mine! My daughter should be about that age by now. And then the name on top of that!

Lisa.

Tires on gravel are a bad combination. I probably make deep ruts in the driveway. I rev the engine and speed off. Out of this fucking town. Out of this fucking world of worn-down people and worn-down lives.

Not that the world isn't full of Lisas, or little girls, about a year and a half old, wearing pink little dresses, ponytails, and smiles full of trust. I see them all the time. But I've been feeling particularly moody the last few days since I got the latest update from my snoop. I tracked them to Chicago. It wasn't hard. She tried to make herself unrecognizable, but come on, I'd recognize her from a mile away anyway. I didn't install any surveillance, though. That part of our relationship is over. 

Even I have limits.

I went there on a number of occasions. Took jobs nearby. Sat in my car outside her place for hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, or the baby. I even rode the bus with her once and she never noticed. I've worked my disguises better, and for longer, than she has. I could almost touch them and my heart pounded so loud that I was afraid she'd hear it.

Someone told me once, at the top of some stairs, that I was pathetic. That was right before I threw her down said stairs. It pains me now to know how right she was.

_ You saw right through me, didn't you? The whole time. _

She looked so tired, so miserable. I knew she mourned her dad, and maybe my part in her situation might have added to that… I wasn't quite comfortable with what I had done. I'm still not. She seemed so alone. So very much in need of someone. So I decided to reach out. I actually left her a note with contact information.

The next day she was gone.

Really gone.

It's been a year. At first I was pretty sure she'd turn up again. People just don't vanish from the face of the earth. Then, as time went by, I backtracked and checked with my sources to make sure Lisa and the girl hadn't been found dead anywhere. But… no. They are just fucking gone. And with every passing day my anger grows. Who does she think she is? Disappearing with my kid like that! A man has rights. If she'd just stayed in sight! Where I could've kept an eye on them.

But now…

Her dad is dead, so I can't squeeze it out of him. Cynthia Becker, her former co-worker and the closest thing she had to a friend, didn't know shit and had to spend a week in hospital after I'd been convinced. I've been tracking her mother, but after a few months it became obvious that they have no contact whatsoever. 

So who does she confide in? Who does she trust? She's not an island; every person needs someone, somewhere.

In the beginning I had five men on my payroll, now I'm down to just one. He works on it full time and still the latest report came up with… nothing.

I slam my fist on the dashboard and turn right on the I-29, leaving Sioux Falls behind me. In three days I have a meeting in Winnipeg of all places.

Canada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My characters' thoughts, values, prejudices and such do NOT reflect any of my own. Just to be clear.


	3. Morning Ritual

When her bright small talk wakes me I've slept three hours, or even less. I remember thinking about Dad, and what used to be. I don't sleep very well those nights. 

She waves to the birds outside the window and tries to chirp just like them. I let her down after checking that she's still got her full pajamas on and hasn't squirmed out of any parts during her sleep, it's chilly on the wooden floor. Then I fall into a coma on my chair for another hour. I dream of Dad. He's still living in his huge house on Blossom Palms Lane and he cries each night because he doesn't know where we are. Guilt, and the terrible feeling of having done something irreversibly wrong, makes my insides churn. I try to reach him, to tell him that I'm still his daughter; that I love him and that I'm still here even though it doesn't seem so. My hand touches his shoulder and when he turns he's not my father. I scramble back so quickly that I fall and I can't defend myself. It hurts so much because I could always defend myself, but not with this one. Not with Jacks-

She's standing beside me, caressing my cheeks and toys with some tresses of my hair, sticking them inside my nostrils. There's a frown on her forehead. I sneeze and give her a sleepy smile.

"Want me to get up, huh?"

"Yes, Mommy," she says loud and clear. "Baba."

I slip my feet into my thick socks and stumble to the bathroom, carrying her on my hip. Our morning routine is bliss. I fill the bathtub with warm, but not too warm, water, and then we dive in, children's music filling the cabin from the stereo, matched by splashing water and Cece's laughter. She loves really simple songs; they make her beam and yodle along. I love Simon and Garfunkel's 'Cecilia'. But when I sing along I tend to alter the lyrics slightly. They change depending on my mood. Today I sing of breakfast.

"Making breakfast in the mo-orning, for Cecilia up in our ca-abin. I get up to wash my face and when I get back my Cece's been pouring milk a-all over."

Her head perks up when she hears her name and then she slams her hands down hard, drowning both us and the walls with a cascade of water. I roll my eyes but then I smile. I'll have some cleaning up to do, but it doesn't matter.

When we're warm and red, our need for each other's skin temporarily sated, and swept in thick bathrobes, we make breakfast. Tea, toast, warm milk, oatmeal. If the weather is nice, we sit on the porch, overlooking the valley, watching the birds collect sticks, preparing their nests for the winter and the bumblebees attempting to fly, lazy, drowsy, the season over, their lives soon ending, and they don't even know it. Such a blessing to live in oblivion, not knowing of the cruelty of the world.

I look at my daughter.  _ Like her. _

I tuck away the remains of the meal, leaving the dirty plates for later, then I brush her six little teeth carefully, making up for last night. After we're done, we dress and prepare ourselves for a walk in the woods. Cecilia toddles around me as we slowly progress into uncharted territory. To her, that is. Every step such an adventure. We've been walking here every day, every month since the last year approximately. It seems as even she has begun to know her way a little now.

I stop and think.

Cece was four months old. I'd been living in an apartment in Chicago since a month before she was born. I'd moved fairly far from Miami, but the city was big and loud and I felt watched wherever I went. I had cut and dyed my hair black and I dressed in loose, baggy clothes, covering up my body, covering up my pregnancy, but still I felt too vulnerable. Whenever I bumped into people on the street, or on a bus, it made the bile rise in my throat and I wanted to scrub myself to get rid of the filth. 

Cecilia cured me from not wanting to be touched. I really think I knew what I was doing when I kept her. I look down at my little angel. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. She has blessed me.

He was around from time to time, I knew that, and I had such a strong feeling that he would never come close again, so it didn't seem to matter that much. That was until I got the note. That was when I knew we had to really disappear to be safe.

He was coming closer.

That same night I rented a small truck. At four in the morning I stuffed a few of my belongings into it. I took out a very large amount of cash, knowing I couldn’t use the credit card again. I crushed my phone and tossed it in a trash bin, and then I just drove north. I had no plan, no goal other than to just get lost.

' _ In case you ever need me.' _

_ Right, I need you as much as I need cancer! _

A little hand pulls mine. "Mama, wewentabuth!" I nod and smile. "Yes, love, we're going into the woods."

::

**A Rock Feels No Pain**

I turn on the radio. When the static clears an old Simon and Garfunkel tune fills the car. I recognize it immediately. It's a silly song, I'm more of a jazz person, but the lyrics are sad and as I flatten the gas pedal to the floor, steering north, they penetrate me and the words come to life carrying a deeper meaning than the two aging musicians could've possibly ever intended.

' _ I've built walls'  _ I'm staring at the road in front of me, but asphalt is not what I see.  _ 'That none may penetrate' _

I see her before me; her eyes sparkling with a hesitant flirt, slightly tipsy from the giant drink I ordered to befriend her and to make her more pliant. And she did, for a while, become friendly. 

I liked it, it was fun.

' _ I have no need of friendship. Friendship causes pain. It's laughter and it's loving I disdain'  _ I've never cared for anybody. I never bothered to get close to anyone. Life taught me early on that it was just a giant waste of energy.

' _ Don't talk of love'  _ I still feel her soft hair caressing my palms when I cradle her head, and the need deep inside for her to just kiss me back. Just once. Just… some… fucking TRUST!

_ 'Of feelings that have died. If I never loved I never would have cried' _

She is so, so soft under me and when she becomes mine I'm about to burst from the wave that overtakes whatever reason and sense I might have had. And then she is so still. So painfully still. Only her chest heaves.

' _ And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries'  _ And I don't have to ask. I don't even have to look at her. She doesn't even hate me.

She loathes me.

It surrounds us with its putrid smell, its rotten abyss, pulling me down. The shame that rolls over me, remembering what I did to her, is hotter than the hell I expect to end up in the day the other guy is faster than I am.

I grip the steering wheel tighter until my knuckles turn white. And it's worse. It's worse because hate and love are two sides of the same coin, but loathing is just… that.

I'm not even worthy of her hate.

' _ Every person needs someone, somewhere.' _

I am a rock.

She's nothing.

NOTHING!

::

**Doves – Ray McGonaghan**

"Ma! I told ya I won't be working tonight. I can't be delivering flour to Mrs. Yates."  _ And I will be saving her guests from her darn concrete cookies.  _ But he doesn't say that out loud.

The forty-two year old, who looks like he is in his sixties with his balding head and with most of his body weight centered around his waist, sneers when he knows she isn't looking. No siree, he has plans for the night and he sure isn't gonna make any deliveries. His babies need him. His pretty feathered, emerald and blue, beauties want their Daddy and he isn't gonna let them down. He heaves himself down the stairs.

" _ Ray! _ " A high pitched sound penetrates the house. 

He stops flat. Mrs. Ida McGonaghan's voice holds a danger to it, a sharp edge that demands submission or punishment is to be had, even as it comes from her bedroom on the upper floor. "Ya will do as I say. Let them pigeons outta there I'm telling ya. They're dirty animals and ya spread diseases. I can't believe the gov'n'ment lets ya have’em."

He grinds his teeth as her sharp voice eats itself through his flesh and bone, hitting him where it hurts the most. "Ma… we live in nowhere. Nobody cares, Ma… And they're clean."

"They ain't coming anywhere near me anyways, that's for damn sure!" the old woman interrupts her only child.

_ I ain't letting them anywhere near YOU.  _ "Awrite, Ma." He sighs heavily and pulls on the boots he's just taken off. He never wins. He'll do it. Even if it's only to get her to shut up. And his birds will get fed later than is right, and he will go to bed cranky and depressed because he is such a wimp.

The kitchen door slams even harder than he intends it to when he yanks it closed behind him. He doesn't bother to lock up even though his mother is stuck in her bed on the upper floor and would be utterly defenseless if anyone decided to break in. If someone would raid their house… find her, well, with her yapping it would be impossible not to, and… just shut her up. Sometimes he even wishes that someone would come along and put her out of her misery – put HIM out of HIS misery…

A knight in shining armor. A dark, handsome knight in shining armor.

Sometimes he even dares to think of that knight in a completely different way. That is before he quickly erases any filth from his thoughts. He's a good Christian.

What would his mother say?

Just the mere thought gives him a heavy headache as he leaves the house behind him and takes a right on the dark road heading towards his grocery store. Tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow he'll make the weekly delivery to the lovely Mrs. Reed and her kid.

_ At least I am someone to some people _ .

Tomorrow will be a good day.

::

**Passing through**

The landscape is so boring that it turns my hair gray. Just flatlands as far as my eyes can see. I'm not in a hurry, my next hit isn't supposed to be back in town until tomorrow anyway, so I decide on a little sightseeing, taking another route to Winnipeg. A less trafficked route, leaving the I-29 for 23 that turns into 371, that turns into a number of anonymous little roads but with breathtaking and ever-changing scenery. Much more enjoyable and much less likely to bring my mind into the threatening meltdown. 

I've just passed the border to Canada. I had my id's ready, Mr. Whateveritwas, in case there'd be a flying inspection. But it was just straight ahead. Getting OUT of the States is rarely a problem.

The tank is almost dry, running on mere fumes, and my throat feels no better so I decide for a lunch break at the first place I pass. A sign for Middlebro comes up. That's my watering hole for today, whatever it has to offer. Not much as it turns out. It's rural, to say the least. There's one main street but it has what I need. A gas station, a small coffee shack, and a grocery store right by it. 

I groan as I step out of the car. I've been driving for more than 300 miles straight and my back is stiff and my legs numb. Inhaling deeply, I relish the fresh air. In spite of its pathetic town center, this seems like a decent place to live.

If you have tuberculosis.

The car gets its first. After filling it up, I park it and march off to the little restaurant, diner, or whatever they call it. My stomach growls in protest from having been denied for so long.

Eggs, beans, bacon swimming in its own grease, a piece of white doughy bread and a large cup of real, black coffee. It's not the best meal I've had and, for the hundredth time this journey, I long for my favorite Italian restaurant back in New York. The important thing is, though, that it refuels me enough to be able to get the next leg on this journey behind me.I stuff a ten partially under the plate, correct my cap, nod at the woman behind the bar and push open the heavy glass door. Steering towards my car, I then have a change of heart and decide on some fruit, maybe a coke, and a newspaper. It's always good to know what the locals are up to.

Inside the grocery it is dusky, and a faint smell of rotten fruit and poorly cleaned floors, lingers in the air. One of the lights in the roof flickers annoyingly. An epileptic would probably have a seizure. I'm not one, though, and it only bothers me because it seems sloppy. Behind the counter there's a heavy man in his sixties. He nods at me with a bored expression but then his face changes and he straightens and smiles. I see the change in him, and now that I get to see him more clearly I realize that he is no more than forty - forty-five.

Unbelievable what humans do with themselves. Unbelievable that HE is coming on to ME. Because it's obvious that he is. 

I feel the weight of the sheath with the knife in it securely under my jacket. I never go anywhere without it. If he pulls this any longer he'll find himself about ten pounds lighter when his head rolls off his fat body. I already calculate under which chin I’ll cut.

_ Fucking fag. _ I decide to play along for a while, just for the fun of it, and flash him my sexiest bad-ass smile.

A blush is creeping up his cheeks and we haven't even spoken yet.

"Ahm, how may I help ya Sir?" His voice is light and rusty. It sounds as if he hasn't used it yet today.

"Hi," I drawl. "I was just passing through when I saw this lovely little place. This a good spot to live?" I lean my forearms on the counter and keep my eyes trained on his.

"Ahm… ehm… yeah, yeah, it's lovely during summa' an' soon there'll be snow and people come here to ski an'… hike an'… there's aw' sorts of things…" His voice trails off. "Did ya come here… looking for something… special?"

There's hope in his pig-like eyes and he licks his full lips. The urge to slam my fist in his face, watch his lips split and laugh as he spits out his teeth, almost overwhelms me. I gotta get out of here before I make an unholy mess. This is not the intention of the trip. And there's no money in hurting him. Not a fuckin' dime.  _ Just the fun of it, _ a small voice at the back of my mind whispers.

"I was really just passing through," I say lamely. Then I decide to use the leverage. "I could use some fruit, a coke, and a newspaper." I put just the right amount of demand in my voice and in a New York second I have him whirling all over the place, gathering items on the counter before me. I keep leaning casually as I, with full contempt, study the man before me, literally having to keep my tell-tale signs of scorn in place, the lifted eyebrow, the curled upper lip, the cold disdain in my gaze. I wonder if he could be of any use at all to me. 

Or to anyone.

He stops before me and holds up two newspapers, black and white, each less interesting than the other. His belly still quavers from the movement he stopped a moment ago. "Which one da' ya' want?" His smile is friendly.

I wonder what he'd look like with a gun shoved down his throat the second before I pull the trigger. I know what he'll look like after. Flesh and blood always look the same mess after. It takes effort to pull myself out of my reverie. I'm even worse than usual and this isn't going anywhere. I feel like shit and I need to finish this.

"That one," I say and point to whatever he's holding in his right hand. I start sweating as bile rises in my throat and I feel my salivary glands start working overtime. I gotta get out of here. The almost fetid stench, the so-called food from the diner that rolls like heavy stones in my stomach, the ugly fag who's undressing me with his eyes...

I flick a twenty on the counter, figuring it'll be enough and swipe up the items in my arms. Middlebro. They're insane. Fucking insa- 

He comes running after me. "Change, mister… ya… change." He's wheezing heavily and stops in the middle of the street, an abandoned white blob on black asphalt, as I speed out of his world.

It's not my kind of place. There's nothing for me there. It's not MY world.

I'm better than that!

I've risen above it.


	4. Winnipeg's Greatest Bitch

Mrs. Erica Davenport has a well-known name, a husband in high politics, a mansion, private guards, and some mighty enemies. She lives behind iron gates on a hill on the outskirts of Winnipeg and I've been keeping her under surveillance since last Tuesday. That's four days. Her big blonde bob bounces on skinny shoulders as she makes her way through the small boutique. Her so called bodyguard carries a pair of jeans on his right arm, a Gucci bag, and a couple of glossy paper bags from the previous shop she visited on his left.

Sloppy. Very sloppy.

If she knew the danger she's in, she wouldn't occupy him with nonsense like bags and shopping. She'd have him call in three other security details from his company and she wouldn't leave her house, terrified, her shining hair a mess, her makeup smeared on her cheeks from all the crying and whining. She'd be praying to a God that she's long since forgotten if he exists or not. But she doesn't. Instead she hauls out her Platinum AmEx for the third time in an hour and pays the little tough-looking, gum-chewing bimbo at the front of the store before she heads out to her limo.

All the easier for me.

Before I hit the road, I give the little twenty-something in the store one more look through the large window. Way too confident. Way too cocky. My pants grow tighter and I squirm as I adjust in my seat. Tempting. But I'm here on a job. Maybe another time.

I back out the car and weave in and out through traffic to get at a working distance to my target. Wonder who wants her dead. She seems to be stepping over corpses on a daily basis and appears anything but likeable so the choices are numerous. Still, there are many of her kind out there, and most people wouldn't hire a professional.

Most people wouldn't even know where to find one.

As I follow a couple of cars behind them and watch her park outside her lover's apartment complex, the thought strikes me again that it could be her husband. But remembering that HE took a little mini-vacation in Toronto with his mistress - his secretary - leaving last night, scheduled to return tomorrow morning, I doubt that he would be too upset by her adultery. Disgusting people. All of them.

Waiting, my feet propped on the dashboard, the hours dragging by too slowly, I pick my nails with the tip of my blade and think of Lisa for the hundredth time since I turned off the ignition. She's out there somewhere. My DAUGHTER is out there somewhere, and it's eating at me. She must be a year and a half now, starting to become aware of her own self, starting to talk I figure, maybe walk. And I'M NOT THERE! The blade slips as my hands tremble and I feel a prick at the tip of my index finger. One single drop of fresh red blood forms while I look at it.

I think of death. 

Someone's death. Any-fucking-one will do. I hear a car door slam shut and quickly put the finger in my mouth, sucking away the metallic tasting fluid. She's not particularly likeable, the blonde bitch, and tonight I'll sate my blood thirst.

It won't be pretty.

::

**Breaking The Vow**

We've been outside for two hours when it's time to go back and prepare for lunch. Cece's beginning to get tired, but I can't allow her to sleep right when we get back; she needs to eat first, and also she'd just want to sleep one more time before evening, and then it would be hell to try to make her come to rest for the night. And maybe, maybe I enjoy her company a little too much to want to be without it. But that reason I don't really articulate, because it doesn't sound quite right.

Maybe I'm beginning to feel a little lonely after all?

I swing her up in my arms and stagger. She's become a lot heavier, but I can still carry her all the way back. Cecilia snuggles up against me; her soft cheek is warm against my cold skin. I kiss her and she laughs and kisses me back.

Ray McGonaghan should be making a delivery today. He's a funny little man. Rather overweight, lives with his mother, breeds doves, and runs the local grocery store. He supplies me with life's necessities, like bread, milk, potatoes, meat, and books when I ask for them and sometimes just when he thinks he's found something for me. He has also brought loads of toys for Cecilia; old inherited worn stuff, but always clean and fully functional. Lego, blocks, wooden trains, cars that I wind up and then watch race across our floor, dolls of all colors, sizes and shapes. I think he might have taken a liking to us and I pray to God that he won't ever come on to me in any way. I've tried to make myself as unattractive as possible. I hope it works.

I let her down with a sigh of relief. She immediately sits down, leaning dangerously to the left, and I have to lift her again and place her on one of the chairs on the porch. I don't want her to catch a cold. I stretch my back and flex my shoulders. They ache from all the carrying.

Before we go inside I pile up the sticks I've collected on the logs by the side of the house. I always try to think ahead. Last winter was tough and there were a few days when no one could come or leave and it was only thanks to my storages that we didn't freeze or starve. There's no telling what this winter will be like, but it kind of thrills me. It's back to basics; it gives me real things to focus on instead of the unreal; the surrealistic patterns that have been my life these past years.

I have only got a few twigs left to pile when I hear the low distant murmur from an engine. My head snaps to the left, listening. Then I react on instinct. I drop what I'm carrying and swing Cece up in my arms faster than she can blink. I'm inside in no time. I look around me in desperation, then I decide to place her in the tub in case there'd be any shots fired. Rushing to the bathroom, I grab a blanket on the way and carefully let her down on it, still fully dressed. I pray she'll be protected there. She grunts a little.  _ PLEASE be quiet. _

I dash back out in the main room, grab the shotgun and hide between the door and the window, barely breathing, tensed, dead frightened.

_ It IS a car! _

It stops right outside. The engine dies and I hear a door open and then quietly shut. The little hairs at the back of my neck stand straight up. Who bothers to close the door so carefully? Someone who has something to hide? The need to glance out the window almost kills me, but I press my back tightly against the wall and remain still. I hear steps in the gravel.  _ Oh God! _ Cocking the gun I pray silently that Cecilia has fallen asleep in the tub and that she won't make a noise.  _ Who's here? Who's sneaking up on us? _ Every hair on my body stands straight up in fear.

Deep down I know who. I know I'll have to use my gun. And it scares me so much.

"Miss Lisa? Hello! Are ya there?"

_ Ray! It's Ray!  _ Trembling violently I have to use both hands to secure the shotgun again and hang it back up on the wall.  _ Oh, stupid, silly Ray.  _ I open the door and lean against the doorframe, somewhat casually I hope. 

"Hey Ray. Ehm… is there a problem?" I smile but it feels too strained and I have to fake a cough to wipe the tears away from my eyes. I don't want to show him how much he frightened me.

"Hi, Lisa!" he shouts, blissfully unaware of the commotion he caused. "I've got-"

"Hang on a sec," I interrupt. I leave the doorway to go and fetch Cece. And I need just a moment extra by myself to calm my nerves. She sleeps on her back, her legs sticking up, looking like a turned over frog. Stopping in my tracks I decide to let her have her nap until I have had time to fix us lunch.

_ Christ! _

I'm gonna have to have a serious talk with Ray.

He stands with his head bent, and at first I think that he is ashamed over showing up in spite of my 'no-show' rule, but then he raises his head and kicks away a little stone as he approaches me, grinning and carefree. God, I feel like such an evil woman knowing that in a minute I'm going to have to wipe that smile off his face. He is such an honest, and almost child-like, human being. I'm sure he meant no harm. But our safety comes first. His ginger, fleshy grin becomes hesitant and then it vanishes as I walk down the steps to meet him. I realize I must be a frightening sight as I fight the urge to hit him.

Poor man.

::

**Wicked Stranger – Erica Davenport**

When the doorbell clangs its typical happy melody she jerks from her reading and glances at her watch. It's late. Ten thirty. Who in their right mind pays someone a visit at this hour?  _ Hm.  _ She puts the book on the side table and gathers the silk robe around her frail form as she listens.  _ Why isn't Lenny getting it? Is he asleep? _

_ Oh! _

Mrs. Davenport groans when she realizes that she needs to open it herself if it's going to get done. It's Lenny's night off. For a moment she plays with the idea of just ignoring it. It would be perfectly okay. But then curiosity takes over and on light feet she sails down the stairs to see who it is, her robe flailing like a white cape behind her.

"Who is it?" she calls through the door as she ties the ribbon to the robe tighter around her waist. One can't be too careful. Through the little window she can only see a silhouette in the dark.  _ Dark? Is it usually that dark? Did the lamp break? _

"Name's Jackson, Miss. I'm here on behalf of a Vincent Mehn- ehm…"

The pleasant voice falters at the attempt of pronouncing the name. She thinks it's cute.  _ Mennér. _ Oh! She smiles at the thought that the man she's been seeing the last few weeks would come up with a surprise like this. Maybe he's even here? Since Jake is gone it could very well be the case. And  _ 'miss' _ , huh? That was a long time ago… The chain rattles as she unhooks it and then she swings the door open, hand on hip, leaning casually and with just the right amount of tease against the doorframe.

_ Well… hellooo! _

Her small smile widens as she regards the man before her. Lean, high cheekbones, an even row of white teeth, a glittering smile and eyes…  _ oh, wow, _ eyes to die for. In the faint light she sees them glint the bluest of blue. He's beautiful and it's as if he's directing a beam of attention towards her and her only.

"What can I do for you?" she purrs huskily, Vincent forgotten. Then she remembers. "Did Vin… ehm, Mr. Mennér send me something?"

The dark haired stranger cocks his head and smiles even broader. A warm feeling spreads in her chest; he's clearly flirting with her.

"What do you think?" he asks softly, his voice raspy in all the right ways.

She raises an eyebrow and purses her lips, knowing this particular kind of exchange so well. "Why don't you tell me?"

The man, Jackson, takes one step forward and enters the hallway. She takes one step back and lets him. A tiny voice nags very far back in her mind that this isn't sensible. Handsome strangers don't just show up on your doorstep late at night for no reason. But the warmth in her chest has quickly spread to the pit of her belly and she loves the game too much to stop.

"I'm not really here because of Vincent," he says coyly and closes the door behind him.

Erica licks her lips and can't help but smile. "I didn't think you were." The tickling in her belly grows more persistent as he closes the door and plunges them into near darkness.

He bolts the door behind him. "I'm here for you."

At first her mind doesn't get the fact that he has pushed her chest so hard that she slams into the wall behind her.  _ Ow. That hurt. _ She staggers to regain her balance. When he grabs a fistful of her hair her first instinct is to tell him to be careful with the 'do. But when her head hits the wall again, harder this time, she finally lets out a terrified scream.

"Shut up," he snarls in her ear, pulling her hair so hard that her eyes water. "This doesn't have to be very complicated. You will hurt a lot more of you make my ears bleed. Are we clear?"

So Erica Davenport tries her best not to scream as the stranger she so easily let inside virtually pulls her by her hair all the way up the stairs and into the library where she a few moments ago sat so peacefully.

And all that escapes her lips are small whimpers of pain and fear.


	5. Easy Prey

She's stopped crying. 

Only random sobs wreck her battered body. Her face is severely bruised, her lower lip and right eyebrow are split, and a few of her ribs are most likely broken. There are reddish-brown streaks of drying blood in her almost ethereally pale hair along with glistening freshly red. I'm pretty sure her hair dresser, her bleaching consultant or whatever, didn't have this look in mind, but I think it suits the bitch. A new look of terror crosses her face as I pull out the knife. I've done what was asked of me, well, parts of it, and a clean cut across her throat will put her out of her misery. Then I'll arrange for it to look like a break-in, a rape, and a random murder. That's what the specifics said. Sloppy, violent, humiliating.

"Please, no please. You don't have to do this!" she wails.

I close my ears to her whining. They all beg. And they all use the same words. Nothing new. It's only natural. People tend to cling to life, even though the lives they live are worthless; a mere waste of air. Straddling her chest, I sadistically flick the blade before her face before I lower it to her neck.

"Don't!" she squeals, too weak to struggle more than a tiny wriggling that's easily subdued.

"Mommy?"

A faint voice right in front of me makes me flinch hard. Only a few feet away, in the doorway between the library and the bedroom stands a little pale girl in a pink nightgown with purple bears on it. She's carrying a giant stuffed panda and stares at me with huge questioning brown eyes.

"Mommy?"

I can't fucking breathe. She has a KID? A KID? Here? Neither in the preps nor during my surveillance have I seen anything that indicates a child. Inside me something screams  _ sloppy!  _ But I'm too stunned to take much notice.

Erica Davenport's eyes, or the one eye she can still open, fills with tears. "Casey," she rasps with a shattered voice as she keeps her gaze trained on me as if daring me to move. "Casey, go back to your room.  _ NOW! _ "

I quickly struggle to regain control; swallowing hard to get rid of the choking feeling I have all of a sudden. " _ NO _ , Casey. Stay." I pin her with my gaze, demanding her to obey me. If she doesn't, if she runs and possibly warns someone, somehow, this might turn into a very messy Shakespearean tragedy.

The kid, the girl, takes a hesitant step towards us, drops her panda and picks it up again while her eyes flicker between me and the beaten woman on the floor.

Between my knees, the woman bends her head back and strains to try to see the girl. "Casey,  _ GO _ ! Get out of here! Listen to mommy!" There's panic in her voice and it breaks several times. Then she fixates on me, her single eye frightened and yet suddenly fiery. "Do what you need to do, but you leave my kid alone, do you hear me? Leave her alone!"

I still can't believe there's suddenly a kid. It wouldn't have changed a thing. I've done lots of people who are mothers or fathers, hell, everybody can breed, there's no great gift in that, but I've never, ever been in this situation. And I've never killed a child. And I will never…  _ FUCK! _

There are tears on her cheeks now - the kid's. And against the insides of my thighs I feel the other female in the room heave her chest erratically, indicating silent sobs. Around my neck it feels as if something is wiring a snare tighter and tighter. I'm no monster.  _ I'm not a fucking monster! _

I cock my head and regard the girl. Tear rimmed brown eyes meet mine. With a growl I sheath the knife and stand. Pulling the woman with me by her hair, I slam her against a wall. "You didn't tell me you had a kid!" I snarl.

"Don't hurt her, please, she's too young to remember anything, she can't be a witness, she's only three years old,  _ pleasedon'thurther! _ " she wails.

I shake her to shut her up. "You didn't tell me you had a fucking  _ KID! _ " I almost roar in her face as I keep one eye on the little one who stands as if frozen in the same position.

"You haven't  _ ASKED! _ " she hollers back.

She's right about that.

"I'll do anything, just don't hurt my baby."

"Your baby," I sneer. "I haven't seen you with her, not once in the four days I've been tagging you. You're one fine mother, aren't you? When does she get to see you? Do you book her up in your agenda once a week or fucking what? Your security guy takes her out to play?"

From the look on her face I can see that several things I said hit home at once. "You followed me?"

I roll my eyes. "Not once!" I hiss and shake her again. "Give me one good reason I should even think of you as a mother at all. All I ask. Just one fucking reason."

I feel her inhale sharply against the arm I have at her throat. Accuse people of being bad parents and they're sure to forget even a death threat in their indignation.

"You don't know anything about me, or us," she spits. "Nothing! I love my baby and I'll do anything for her. If you're here to kill me, then do it, but leave her alone!"

Her courage kind of impresses me, and she's clearly got some motherly instincts in some of the right places. And I'm far out on the edge now. "Anything?" I ask, straining to keep my voice steady.

She nods.

I let her go and shove her towards the girl, Casey. She falls to her knees and embraces the little one who's still too stunned to even cry out loud, just the silent wetness on her cheeks. She just stands there, easy prey, too innocent to even try to defend herself, her panda bear tightly held.

"You two." I point to her and the child. "You leave tonight. Without a trace. I don't care how you do it but you'll have to vanish from the face of the earth. I'd recommend strongly you leave the continent all together. Get me?"

"W…what?"

"You heard me," I say in a low voice.

"You'll let me live?"

There's hope in that voice and I can't stand to hear it. I don't DO hope. I turn and start to leave. In the doorway at the opposite side of the room I stop and turn to them. "If you're still in the fucking country tomorrow morning, then I'll come back for you both. And if I don't get you there'll be others. There's a very large sum on your head, Erica."

"W- why? Wh- o?" she hitches behind me as I turn to leave.

I've had enough of this but I decide to drive the nail in further. And maybe save my own fucking life. I shrug as I lean against the doorframe. "Someone close. I'd say you can't trust anyone."

My hand trembles so much when I try to put the key in the ignition that I have to steady it with the other hand. The gravel squirts behind the car as I speed off into the night. I can't believe I did that. I'll have to make up a story as to why her body is missing. If she's not gone tomorrow, then I'm as good as dead.

_ What the fuck's wrong with me? _

_ Sloppysloppysloppy! _

::

**Gunshot Wounds**

I sigh and collect my thoughts as I wrap a thick wool blanket around my shivering body. 

Cecilia is in bed, sleeping since an hour. We brushed her teeth tonight. Today was a good day. Nothing particular happened. I read a book and she played on the floor. We made pancakes. Yesterday was horrible. I almost killed a man.

' _ November 27, 2007 _

_ I was too upset yesterday to even write about it. I'm still trembling just thinking about what happened. _

_ We've been completely alone here for about a year now. Nobody ever comes here. That is what I've chosen, the safety and predictability I need. Only the first few weeks when I had to have help with some plumbing, and with the repairing of the porch was when I allowed people here. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were so kind, and they have respected my will ever since. _

_ But now there's the problem with Ray. _

_ Poor, kind, stupid Ray. _

_ I've been worried for a while that he wants more from me than I can give him… and now I'm sure. He came here UNINVITED. And I almost shot him! It's not what it sounds like. He didn't try anything funny. It was just the fact that he showed up here at all. _

_ God, I don't know what to do. _

_ If I'd have shot him… then I would have been sent to jail… and Cece would be ALONE! Or maybe not alone. She'd probably have to go live with Mom in Texas, and then she'd be out in the open. Visible to all the predators out there. _

_ To HIM. _

_ That can not happen. I have to take precautions. I might have to move. WE might have to move. _

_ Because next time, next time someone might be following Ray here. And that someone… will be Jackson.' _

My hands shake so much when I write the last sentence that I have to stop and breathe. My chest feels tight and the sensation of something crawling under my skin makes me gag with revulsion. I remember him so clearly, I don't even have to try very hard to feel his hands around my throat; choking me, or his lips on mine, his taste, his scent, the intrusion of both body and soul.

If he comes here… if we meet again. Then I'm going to have to kill him. It'd be him or me. I shiver at the thought and clutch my hands hard in my lap.  _ I hate you!  _ And that's not even entirely true. I glance across the room at Cecilia's peacefully sleeping form. The blanket rises and falls with her slow calm breathing. How can I truly hate someone who has given me such a blessing?

_ How can I kill her father? _

My cheeks are cold and wet and I realize that I'm crying. We have to move. That's the only solution. We're not safe here anymore.

' _ They say there's a storm coming in a few days. A real snow storm. If it's anything like last year, then nobody can come here and nobody can leave. That means a few days, or maybe even weeks, of peace.' _

I close the journal and drop it on the table. He's always on my mind, and yet I can't see his face any longer. It's been so long. I wonder if I'd even recognize him.

I hope to God I'll never find out.

::

**Distractions**

I'm restless, infuriated, hurt. I've got all this pent-up energy that hasn't gotten its release. My self-loathing has reached a new high and it's as if I itch inside.  _ You let her go! You fuckin' FUCKIN' moron! _

The twenty-minute drive along the highway hasn't done anything to calm my nerves and I need something that I can't properly articulate. I aim to take a left turn towards my hotel in the east part of the center of Winnipeg, but then I change my mind and continue straight forward instead, to the vibrant core of the city, to where the bars and the clubs are.

At one am the night life is buzzing on one of the main streets. I cruise slowly, still unaware of what I'm looking for. Finally, I decide to park in a poorly lit alley. Outside the air is chilly and it smells of approaching snow. I sharpen my senses and listen to the night, standing absolutely still for a few moments. The car chirps twice as I lock it and then I start walking, a bit more at ease. I'm the biggest predator out here. No one's above me.

And I'm not below anything.

Black heavy doors. Giant bouncers on the outside, five bars and three dance floors on the inside. I don't know what made me pick the place. I really don't. Inside it's foggy, multi colored beams sweep through the mist and across sweaty bodies of people too drunk, or too stoned to walk straight. They seem to want to steer into me constantly. I don't really fit in, and yet I do if I work my magic, if I allow myself to transform and become one with the heat, with the mood, with the pulse. With the beat of the dance music, hard, raw, nagging and ruthless, the whiskey, and the lonely girl by the bar, I suddenly know what made me pick the place, what it is I'm looking for.

People could get lost here, not to be found until the next morning. People could get killed here. I'm sure it has happened. It's that kind of place.

I feel a little less frustrated. Something's bound to happen, something that'll give me my release. I steer languid steps towards her, she has her back to me and is completely unaware that I have her pinned. I almost laugh at the irony of it all. It's the little bitch from the boutique my hit was at yesterday. She has long straight hair, charcoal black, all the way to her ass. She's wearing leather pants and a very small white top that shows a piece of her hard trimmed belly.

Alluring.

I sneak up behind her, grab her hips and pull her towards me as I bend my head and bite her where the neck meets the shoulder. Hard, but not hard enough to really scare her. It's a daring move. I know it'll work. A girl like this, playing tough and hard to get, is practically begging for a master, for someone to just take her.

She jumps high and tries to push away, her whole body screaming of indignation. I let her turn so she can see me and feel her soften already. Using the new position I press her tighter again, letting her feel my stiffness. I already know I've won. Her eyes widen with appreciation, flirting back already, and glint with uncertain recognition. I don't give her time to think about if she's ever seen me before or not.

She hasn't.

"Come."

"Where're we going?" She giggles a little too loud, too drunk to be apprehensive of the situation, and squirms in my grip, rubbing against my cock. I feel her mold into my rough embrace, already fitting like a glove, and know how I'm gonna pull this off.

"My place."


	6. Bound

Her mind's abuzz and her body's tightly coiled from the excitement. She can't believe she's doing this, but it's the sexiest thing she's ever experienced in her young life. And they're still just in a car, going to his hotel. She keeps the naughty giggle in check because it doesn't seem cool enough, but just wait till the girls find out! He was so… so rude! And so damn cocky. And HOT! Those eyes… she's never seen such eyes. Electric. Sparkling with mischief. He had smiled and she had known that he'd wanted her. Just her. It made her feel as if she'd won the lottery and that they'd better get the hell out of that club before someone else claimed the prize.

She glances at his profile. It's dark, but the streetlights play across his face, making his eyes gleam. He stays focused on the road, but he must've sensed that she was looking at him because he suddenly smiles broadly while his eyes keep staring out the windshield, and it makes her heart jump and her thighs tingly.

"Cherry," he says all of a sudden, his voice husky and teasing. "Cherry blossom, cherry cake, cherry pie." He glances at her for a moment, his eyes glittering with wickedness as he bites his lower lip. "I'm gonna have to take a bite out of you."

She gasps and giggles; her nipples hardening just from the implication. "Yeah, you might just have to do that… I taste reeaaally sweet…" She tries to make her voice sultry and sugary, striving to match his raw sensuousness.

The drive is short. In less than ten minutes the car suddenly stops and the engine dies. The silence is deafening. He pulls out the key and dangles it in front of her face before he pockets it, his icy eyes never leaving her gaze as he raises an eyebrow. 

"Sure you do."

They turn the corner and enter a hotel. It's late and there's no one at the front desk. The man, she realizes she still haven't heard his name, holds his arm firmly around her waist and when they're finally alone in the elevator he kisses her. Deep, demanding, possessively. She can't breathe and has to fight when her head starts to swim from lightheadedness. He lets her go with a predatory grin and backs her out of the lift, slams her against a door, and then she's suddenly inside a dark room in an anonymous hotel with a man she doesn't even remember if he told her his name or not.

_ He must've… _

_ Of course he did! _

She really can't remember if he did, but quickly forgets everything about it as she is forcefully pushed onto the bed. Her head is spinning and falls back heavily onto the pillow. She's so turned on that it almost hurts and she wriggles to get into position under him. The stranger has straddled her and is doing something with her hands. When he leans back, she can't move her arms. As realization dawns on her, she starts to try to get free with panicky movements.

"What-"

"Shhhh, don't try, you'll only hurt yourself. S'alright. Shhh…" 

His voice is soothing and his hands feel too good as they caress their way down her body, putting pressure on all the right places, following her curves, circling, squeezing, and pinching where it makes her hot and needy.

"Oh, God!" She arches into him and it doesn't feel that bad to be bound anymore, in fact it adds some… danger, and edge… Squirming under his weight she wishes he would undress her, lick her all over, take her to the moon and back. Like NOW! "Please," she rasps.

"Please what?" he says as he climbs off the bed.

"Come on… I-" She doesn't get to say more than muffled inarticulate sounds after that when he covers her mouth with a strip of duct tape. She sobers faster than she thought possible.  _ Christ! He's crazy! Fuck, what have I done? _

Her eyes go impossibly wide and tears start to roll down her cheeks as he produces a large knife out of nowhere. He lets the tip of it caress its way, the same path his hands did just a moment ago, slowly, twisting, stroking. Almost fainting from fear all she can do is thrash from side to side and moan into her gag. She doesn't hear it until after a while; his reassurances that he won't hurt her… much. And there isn't a lot she can do, except lie perfectly still, breathing very, very shallow, when he starts to cut the clothes off her body, piece by piece until she lays naked and vulnerable, frightened on the verge of passing out but at the same time increasingly aroused because there is such desire in his eyes, and it’s all for her. 

Inhaling and exhaling raggedly, her eyes follow his every move, her mind tilted, unable to predict what he'll do next, the fear and the excitement almost getting the better of her.

Discarding the knife next to the bed, he leans forward as he pushes out of his own clothes; shirt, pants. His breath is insanely hot on her ear, his voice low and raspy, and it's not a bad thing as he whispers what she's been dying to hear.

"I want to fuck you, Cherry, sweetie. I want to fuck you so bad."

Her chest heaves, only muffled sounds escape her throat, and she nods. 

_ Yes! Yesyesyesyes! _

His belly is warm against hers, his hands rough on her hips, and then he thrusts into her without any further preparations. She expects some initial uncomfort, but is shocked to feel that she is ready for him. Very much so.

The pace is furious; it's almost as if he's punishing her, but she can't recall a time, ever, when she has been more aroused and his careless, brutal handling of her makes her toes curl and her belly ache with the tension that's building.  _ Gooood…. Soon, soon….  _ If she could cry out loud, she would.

Suddenly, he pulls out and flips her over on her belly before he enters her again. His fingers dig into her flesh and the deep thrusts are starting to hurt a little. She wants to tell him, but with the tape on she can't. One hand sneaks under her and caresses her breast, squeezing, pinching, and then it progresses up to her neck where it molds itself after her shape. It's uncomfortable and she tries to bend her head away but can't as his other hand suddenly is in her hair at the back of her head, pressing it down. She gulps against his palm. She can't really breathe very well and then he starts choking her. He really is choking her while he slams with full force into her body. It hurts, and without air, she panics and thrashes to try to get him off of her.

_ I'm gonna die! Nonononopleaseplease!  _ She thinks of her mom, and her sister, and knows she's just made a horrible, horrible mistake. Her heart pounds hard and the pending orgasm is still close to the surface. When his hand leaves the back of her head, slides along her side, across her belly and delves between her slick folds, finding her swollen clitoris, she starts convulsing. The immediate release almost makes her pass out from its strength, her body not knowing whether she needs the air or the pleasure more. 

While she's still twitching and trembling, his pace increases and he roars out loud before he stills.

After, she's embarrassed and a bit shy, her body still shaking. She still doesn't know his name, she's sure of that now. She's bound and gagged, naked and wet, in some hotel with a complete stranger.

He's dressing himself and pockets a used condom. She finds that a bit odd. Wanting to catch his attention, she tries to smile through the tape, but it turns out like a grimace, and it doesn't work.

When he zips his suitcase with a very concluding sound and pulls it towards the door she realizes he's leaving and finally sobers completely. Screaming through the gag doesn't work very well; it only comes out as a long groan. He stops and regards her. When did his eyes become so cold? His face is a sneer as he speaks. "Don't worry, Cherry, you're in a hotel. They'll find you tomorrow… at noon, I'd say. Bye now."

_ Don't lea- _

_ Asshole! _

The door slams shut behind him and she's in for a really long and lonely wait for tomorrow to come. Her body is still humming with pleasure and with her eyes full of tears she tells it to shut the fuck up.

::

**Bugs**

Cece is restless and needy. She whines and clings. It’s almost as if she doesn't feel safe. Like me. I don't know how to handle her. I have no soothing words, my own anxiousness too pressing to just wave hers off. The world IS a horrible place and I just can't lie. So I sing to her about fairies and princesses, rainbows and daisies, hoping to distract. And finally she falls asleep in my arms. Two hours later than usual. I whisper in her ear to not let the bedbugs bite and cover her up with the blanket.

I virtually stumble to the bathroom and start filling the tub with hot water. The heater almost makes a full tub. Almost, but it's good enough. Bath foam covers the rest and gives the impression of luxury. Groaning, I lower myself carefully into the near scalding content. I have to breathe shallowly and steel myself from the pain, but once I'm inside the heat penetrates my body and calms me. 

It's cathartic.

The water makes me weightless, free, another me. I wish I lived by the sea. I've always lived by the sea, and I miss it. But I was another Lisa then.

I lather my shoulders and arms. Then I let my hands slide down slick skin, past my breasts with the scar, my belly, hips, thighs, bending my legs I allow my hands to slide over thin knees and shins. The last person who touched me, the last grown person… was Jac-

No, it's not true. 

The gynecologist and the midwife were the last people. That wasn't easy, having to allow strangers' hands access to my body, and not just anywhere either… The pain of the contractions was overshadowed from the internal pain of having hands grope… there… They kept telling me to spread my thighs, spread my thighs, spread my thighs… Every fiber of my being told me to pull up my pants and get the hell out of there. But, like every other woman giving life to a new little person, I did what needed to be done.

And when she came, it was all worth it.

My hand stops at the patch of hair between my legs and I let my palm slide down to cover my mound, my fingers touching the soft, silky folds. It's been so long… Will I ever…? Would I want? Who would want me?

A small black bug, slowly making its way across the white panels on the wall, catches my attention.

_ Hey there. It's winter. Aren't you a little lost? _

_ But then again, aren't we all? _

::

**Good For Something**

They break the non-descript music for a traffic announcement. I lean forward and turn up the volume. There's been an accident up ahead and the heavy traffic is forming mile-long queues already. So I take a sharp turn to the right on the exit I'm just about to pass and find myself, funny enough, on the route back towards whatever the name of the little place was.

Middlebro, was it? I guess I'll soon find out.

According to the latest updates there's a storm approaching, and as I glance in the rearview mirror at the sky in the north I believe the forecasts. The clouds are heavy, a dark menacing blue, and chase each other ferociously across the canopy. I frown. I'm homesick and it looks as if the weather is going to bring me some unexpected trouble.

When snowflakes start whipping around outside my windows, I almost feel the rage of nature's forces inside me. It unites itself with my pounding heart and makes it quiver and swell. Winter's here. There's an almost electrical tension in the air and with all that I'm leaving and with nowhere to go it makes me feel more alive than in a long time.

Sometimes I believe I thrive on chaos.

Maybe it's Cherry? Sweet Cherry. Cherry, the cocky little bitch who found just a little more than she could handle. I grin. It did work, and I haven't thought of the job since. It's ten am and it should be a couple of more hours before they find her. I didn't plan to treat her that badly, it just happened. I do have a habit of playing a bit rough. I like to be in control, but I usually don't leave them behind in that state.

And, as if on cue, I immediately think of Lisa Henrietta Reisert. I never could control her. She's one of very few people in my adult life who has dared to oppose me and gotten away with it. Alive. 

_ Fuck! _

It stings somewhere deep inside. Somewhere where there probably should be a heart. I curse my life. I curse my lack of control.

I aim my focus on driving instead. The snowfall is getting thicker and visibility is decreasing. I might have to make a stop soon and I am beginning to hope desperately that the shithole I passed on the way up isn't too far away.

And then I almost fucking miss it. Middlebro. I never saw the sign, and I almost drive right through it when I see the well-known yellow sign for the gas station. Shitty little place, blink and you've missed it. I almost cringe at the thought, but it actually seems like a rather good idea to call it a day and find a place to sleep. Sliding into the curb I have to put all my driving skill into not crashing the car sidelong into a trash bin. It IS a good idea to let the weather clear before I continue.

Inside the gas station it's almost quiet, only a faint sound from a radio can be heard. The sharp stench of oil lies thick in the air. It seems completely abandoned and I stroll past a couple of shelves to see if I can find someone, anyone, doing their job. The interior design is kind of wacky. Nothing must've been done with this place since the fifties or sixties, except for the wearing and tearing. Had they taken care of it, it would've been an architectural gem.

I try my voice on the emptiness. "Anybody here?"

"Yeah, yeah coming, I'm coming!" The response from the back of the store is immediate and out comes a tall and gangly teenager with a really bad skin problem. The same guy as last time. "Well, hello again, what can I do for ya?"

I don't like being recognized at all. Especially not here. His badge says 'Dan'. I smile. "Hey. Winter got the better of my driving. Is there any decent place to stay around here?"

"Wouldn't say 'decent'," he snorts and I grin inwardly. A soulmate. "But there's a motel if ya go back to the cross section and then take a right. Ya'll see it. It says 'Pond's'. If ya're looking for decent, though the best would be to go back to Sprague."

I smile again and say some appropriate thanks. I'm sure Pond's will make due. 

' _ Ponds Motel & Restaurant' _ , is what it says. My stomach growls threatening. It's late for a lunch, but I hope the kitchen's still open. This will do. Car parked outside, I enter and find a clearly bored, middle aged woman behind the desk. She perks up when the door slams shut and smiles; a front tooth is missing in her lower jaw.

"Hello and welcome to our snowy little town. I'm Elisabeth Anderson. What can I do for ya?"

She leans forward, showing off a bit of cleavage and I almost, almost get the impression that she might be offering more than just food and a bed. In a way, doing neither of them justice, she reminds me of that Davenport woman. The memory makes me grit my teeth with unease. I shudder and shake it off.

"I'm looking for a place to stay for the night. Are there any rooms available?"

"Will ya be staying more than one night?"

I sigh. This'll be one long test of my patience.

She prepares some papers for me to sign. A key with a huge wooden tag attached to it appears next to the forms. I lift the pen just as an ice cold gust of wind hits my neck and the door slams shut again.

"Ray, honey! What's up?" she cackles.

"It's winta, Beth, daymn!"

I freeze when I recognize the voice. Fucking HELL. It's the fatty from the grocery shop. I can't believe my bad luck. Pulling my cap down further, I stare at the forms and start writing. I virtually feel their gazes and the unasked questions burn holes in the back of my coat.

_ Back off! _

"So… ehm, what're ya up to?" she finally says, hesitantly.

"Yeah, ehm… I'm going up to Miss Lisa and the kid with some supplies. They might be needing that now if this is gonna get any worse, and I know she won't eva' agree to come down here where it's safer."

I freeze for the second time in less than a minute.

No.

No.

It's not possible.

No. Not here of all places. And there are thousands of Lisa's in the world. And why would she live in Canada? And why the fuck HERE? They keep talking behind my back and when the door suddenly slams shut again my initial shock wears off in an instant.

I'm sure it's nothing. 

Nothing worth bothering about.

I fucking can't…

"I'm sorry; I think I forgot my wallet back at the gas station. I'll be back." I drop the pen on the counter and push the door open. I watch him stepping into his yellow pick up.

"I can call Dan!" she shouts behind my back. "Ya don't hafta go out!"

But I've already covered half the distance to my car. It's such a vague hunch, a long-shot, but it's impossible to still my beating heart. And it's not like I have much else to do I tell myself, my growling stomach effectively silenced from the adrenaline.

When Ray the Fag rolls out from the parking lot my motor starts humming.

The hunt is on.


	7. Night Is Nigh

It's winter and I love it.

It's only my second year ever with real snow and I play around with it almost as much as Cecilia does. Or would be doing if she had appropriate clothes. She has grown and her winter's suit doesn't quite cover it all. So I let her play for half an hour in her old one, wetness creeping in to her ankles and wrists. She's fresh faced and steaming, but her skin is cold when I decide it's enough. Tomorrow I'm going to take a rare trip into town and place an order with Mrs. Anderson for a new suit for Cece. It should take a couple of days then for it to get here but I don't want to go to Sprague myself.

I don't like crowds.

I prepare a bath for my daughter and make myself a steaming cup of coffee with a little milk while I read yesterday’s paper. Ray brought it with the latest delivery last night. They warn again for the storm saying it should hit us 'tomorrow night'. That'd be tonight. Dusk is still a few hours away. Maybe, if we'd be trapped here God only knows how long, we would need even more fuel for the fire to make sure we don't have to freeze. Thinking about it I realize I can't risk that. I have to make yet another round before nightfall to collect as much as I can bring.

The problem is that I can't bring her.

The clothes she has aren't sufficient and to top it off, they're wet. I make a quick calculation; after the bath, when she's eaten, she'll sleep, and if I don't wake her she can easily sleep for at least two hours and I wouldn't be gone more than one at most. A twinge of guilt stabs me, but it is out of necessity, and completely safe. She can't get anywhere. I will hear through the silent forest if anyone approaches for at least a mile ahead, and no one comes here. Not even Ray after being at the receiving end of my anger the other day.

It's safe.

I'll be quick and she'll never know I was gone.

::

**The End Of The Line**

He takes a funny route. I can't believe anyone lives out here. The road is bumpy and in dire need of maintenance and it's becoming narrower with each turn. The shadows are getting longer. Dusk begins to fall on the wintery scenery and I need to make a quick decision. Either I'll have to turn on the headlights soon and risk being discovered, or I make a stop on the next side road and follow his tracks in the snow by foot. I decide for the latter even though I'm not properly dressed.

As I shut down the engine a couple of hundred yards in on a very narrow path, I hear the humming of an engine coming closer and through the trees I see the yellow pick-up passing me. I crouch behind a branch. That was too fucking close! He already dropped off his delivery? That seems strange. Maybe he changed his mind? I hesitate. The cold, and the fact that my shoes aren't exactly built for this kind of adventure, almost makes me regret the whole adventure. I could be sitting with a whiskey in the motel room flipping through cable TV channels to my heart’s desire. And the fatty probably changed his mind, so I won't find out anything anyway.

But then again.

What if?

I lock up the car and start walking; the strength of the wind surprising me as it almost takes my breath away. Plowing through the ankle high snow, my expensive Italian black shoes soon start to leak. They'll be totally wasted when this is over with, but that doesn't really matter, they've served me well and there're new ones to be had at Pireo's. 

At least it doesn't snow at the moment.

Sooner than I expect I come across a large grey plastic box that stands abandoned by the side of the road. The tire tracks stop here and there is proof of a car backing and maneuvering its way in a circle in the freshly fallen snow. I stretch my arm out and stroke the side of its lid, then I frown and look around. There's no settlement to be seen anywhere, the snow ahead as unscathed and almost virgin-like as if nothing had touched it for centuries. It’s locked, and I hesitate. Then I stretch inside my coats and unsheath the knife. I insert it under the metal and bend it upwards until the padlock breaks open. Then I lift the lid. I rummage through the paper bags.

Groceries. A doll. A newspaper. Weird. Why not bring them all the way to whoever purchased them? 

The road continues in one direction only. I drop the lid and keep walking, too curious to stop now. Who would go through such measures to stay hidden? Who would be so careful? The little hairs at the back of my neck stand straight up, and it's not from the cold.

' _ Lisa and the kid.' _

I think I already know the answer. I really, really think I know the answer, and my heart suddenly pounds heavy in my chest. I have to stop for a second and catch my breath. Then I move again. More determined that I can remember I’ve ever been. 

::

**As Fate Would Have It**

The shadows are getting longer and a new chill is entering the air. As the wind increases dusk is falling and I sense that something's not right. I continue forward, carrying my load, and wave the feeling off as guilt over abandoning Cece. The walk is heavier than before and I have to stop several times to catch my breath. There's just one more hill to climb and then it's downwards from there but I have to stop and lay down my burden for a moment. I gasp for air and my right side hurts. 

Pressing my knuckles into the side of my waist I feel my ribs and realize how thin I've become. I have to eat more. No wonder I have less and less energy with every month. I lose weight, muscle weight. I wave the thought off to the recesses of my mind. I have more important things to think of.

_ Cece's alone. Come one, just a few more steps up that slope. _

Clenching my teeth, I swing the logs back up on my shoulder and struggle forward. I have a feeling of hurry. Maybe she's awake? She can't get anywhere and she can't reach anything dangerous. Not yet. But she can be scared and alone. I swallow the lump that's forming in my throat. I'll never, ever leave her again. It was a stupid, rushed decision. I know that she sleeps for more than an hour, most likely two, at this time of day, and I've only been gone about an hour. But no matter how I try, sense and reason can't soothe my feeling of imminent doom.

When I'm finally at the top, I stop for a moment again. From here I can overlook our house and a good part of the neighborhood. Everything seems fine, at least on the outside. And she IS asleep, I know that really. It's just me. Exhaling with relief, I start descending and I'm halfway down the hill when I see a movement in the shadows.

There! Behind the trees by the left corner of the cabin. I stop and squint.

_ No. _

_ Yes! There! _

My heart begins to tremble. There's someone standing on the driveway. Hidden from the house, but not hidden from my viewpoint. Ray again?  _ Oh, come ON…You shouldn'… _

No.

Not Ray. 

A lean man. Tresses of dark long hair wisps around a face that I can't see. I strain to see clearer, my heart pounding hard now, my breaths short and labored. I think I know before I know. If that makes any sense.

_ Jackson. _

_ It's him! _

I almost faint. My knees go weak. The déjà vu is all too real and the nightmares I've had for so many months, years, are suddenly reality. I can't move. I can't think. Cece's in the cabin. He's outside, between my daughter and me, and I'm up here unable to even breathe, let alone run down there and take him out to protect my child. I'll die if I face him and then he'll hurt my baby. Cece's in danger if I run away and just leave her to him. And either way I'll never see her again.

_ Oh, GOD! _

I knew it. I knew that he would catch up with us one day no matter what I do. I always knew that we wouldn't be safe until… until he no longer exists. With my own prophecies finally fulfilled, I drop to my knees and cover behind a large bush. WHY did I leave her alone? Guilt strikes down on me as it has never done before in my life. I might as well have killed her. Killed us both.

_ Cecilia! _

Maybe that's what I should have done anyway? That's what I've been thinking during my darkest hours when she was smaller, before I found a life within this new non-life - that we would have been better off dead. Maybe it would be easier to just go to him and let him do it? Let him end the endless nightmares and the fear. I see his knife before me as I saw it when he flicked the cold gleaming blade in front of me in the late night in my apartment. The night when he shredded the last pieces of my innocence.

The night Cece came into my life even though I didn't know it at the time.

_ No! _

This is not about me, or what I want! I need to fight! Not for me, but for Cece. She deserves a life, a good life. She doesn't deserve to know of him or to see him. Not even once.

She deserves my fight.

She deserves my sacrifice.

I'm not sure it's a well thought-over decision, but I decide to kill him. Now. Kill or be killed are the only options. I decide to sneak up on him with one of the logs in my hands and slam it across his head. Again and again until he stops moving. I take a large enough piece of wood from where I dropped them and clutch it in my hands. White steamy clouds appear around my face and disappear just as fast in the chilly afternoon with the pace of my quick and shallow breathing.

I see it before me, it's doable. He's just a man. He's not invincible. I know because I beat him once.

He's still not trying to enter the house, and for that I'm eternally grateful. I pray that I'll make it. I have to walk in a wide circle in order to get close enough behind him. The last ten feet or so I'm going to have to leap across the open, and then it will be over. I tell myself over and over that I will make it as I keep him in sight while moving through the decaying forest, freshly covered in an innocent white coating. The snow-clad fallen leaves beneath my feet are wet and soft and my steps doesn’t make a sound. I bless the moist air and the rain that has been falling at night these last weeks before the weather changed.

As he moves I stop flat and curse, crouching behind some bushes. What's he doing? He keeps moving back and forth outside our house, but then he suddenly disappears.

I hold my breath. I don't think. I don't hate. I don't feel. One-onethousand, two-onethousand, three-onethousand… He's gone behind the house for fifty seconds before he re-appears as suddenly as he disappeared. I'm not sure if I've taken even one breath the whole time he was gone and I strain desperately to see if he's got something in his arms or not.

He doesn't.

Good.

I'm so focused on the task that I don't even have time to be afraid. I lie still, pressed flat to the wet ground and wait as he glances around him. When he turns, I move. My legs tense and with the log in the air I dash across the open and slam it with full force against his head. In the last second he moves and screams. His arms flail as he tries to catch my arm. I jerk away, trying to lift the log once more only to find it knocked out of my grip. He grabs around my coat arm and a seam rips as I throw myself back, slipping in the wetness, falling to the ground.

Smirking, he approaches with measured steps and as he comes within reach I kick out and hit his knee. I have no time to see his reaction. I hear a growl, followed by a frightening roar from too close behind my back, but I'm already on my feet, leaping forward, away from the mayhem. Away from the devil himself.

"Leese!"

I hear him roar my name and then the eerie echo rolling off the mountains surrounding us.

' _ Eese-eese-eese-es-es-es-e.' _

_ Nononononono! _

The withheld tears make my throat ache and my chest burns from lack of air but I keep running for my life. I'm leaving Cece behind, but I'm of no use to her if I'm dead, and maybe, just maybe he doesn't know she's in there. He's getting closer but I know the terrain better and as I get to the steep slope I start sliding-running-sliding, faster and faster until I can't hear him any more. I turn my head to look when my foot gets stuck and I fall on my face with an intense pain from my ankle radiating up along my left leg.

It hurts so much that I want to scream. With sweat dripping off my forehead and clenching my teeth not to make any sounds, I fight to get loose and expect a killing blow any moment. Finally, I still and listen. Everything is quiet. Too quiet. All the little hairs on my back stands straight up. He's not here. He's gone back.

_ Cecilia! _

God! I have to get back. NOW!

::

**Sudden Attack**

The house seems abandoned at first glance. It's a small cabin built out of roughly carved logs. There's no light, no smoke out of the chimney, and no indications that anyone lives here. I begin to curse, thinking that maybe I'm not on the right path anyway? That is until I see the footsteps in the snow. Multiple. Two sets; small and large. They're everywhere. And suddenly I shiver with anticipation. 

_ They're here! _

But where are they? I haven't seen any tire tracks, and there's no sign of a car. I look through a window and see a kitchen counter with some plates and glasses on it, when I try the front door it's locked and there's no stirring from within. I frown and glance out at the surrounding terrain, but the naked forest is silent and non-telling, void of human life. The tree tops bend and wisp in the ever-increasing wind. I walk to the back of the house to see if I can get any clues. There is a back door, surprisingly enough, but it's locked too. A little lost I turn the corner again and stop on the same spot I started. I had a multitude of scenarios in my head, but this was for some reason never one of them.

Suddenly, I sense a movement and whirl around just in time to partially dodge something that comes flying through the air. It hits my ear and it feels as if it's being ripped off. The attacker slams the object at my head again but I'm better prepared this time and almost tear off the arm of the much smaller person who slips and fall with a thud followed by a whimper.

It's... a woman. With all the clothes she's wearing I only see a nose and ferociously dark eyes that glisten with hate.

Oh my fucking God, it's…

_ Lisa. _

I can't help but grin as I approach her.

She kicks out and hits my knee so hard that I almost fall. It feels as if something actually breaks inside it. A wave of agony shoots through me and I roar in pain as she turns and flees.

"Leese!" I roar at her rapidly disappearing form.  _ You fucking BITCH! You're NOT getting away this time! _

When I get my bearings right, she's already halfway to the tree line. No fucking way I'm letting her out of my sight again! Initially, I gain on her, but my knee hurts immensely and finally I'm nauseous from the pain. I decide to go back and wait for her in the cabin instead. She’ll be back. Because I have a hunch she’s not alone. That there’s something of such value in there that she will risk everything for it.

Limping, I take a route with less climbing and happen to see a flash of silver further to the left of me. Well, hello… It's a SUV. I spend a few minutes making sure she won't be going anywhere with it anytime soon.

Now I can only wait - tend to my wounds - and wait for her to come to me.


	8. Miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again. Jackson's opinions are NOT my own.

The lock is shit; an easy, old, even rusty mechanism. It's a piece of cake to break once I've decided to. It snaps open with just the right push. Remembering another time when I picked her lock and thought about her fucked up safety measures makes me sneer.

_ I'm really gonna have to teach you a thing or two about protecting yourself, Leese _ .

Once inside I almost fall to the floor, exhausted. Trembling from the pain, and the numbing chill, I shred my wet and dirty clothes all over the place as I slam the door shut behind me. The cabin is warm but I'm still so cold that it'll take a long time yet before I'll start feeling my toes again. I'm still stunned. I hurt all over and wince as I move, but at the same time I feel kind of giddy. I haven't thought about how I'd react if, or when, I finally caught up with her again.

_ Them. _

_ It's 'them'. _

It’s absolutely quiet inside, and I’m guessing my hunch was wrong. There’s no life in here. I'm figuring the kid is with her somewhere out there in the quickly darkening and hostile surroundings. I can only hope that Lisa isn't too fucking out of her mind and tries to leave by foot. It's a really long way back to any sort of civilization. Or settlement, that is. It's even further to some real civilization.

Surprisingly enough, I'm not particularly angry with her for attacking me. I'd have done the same in her position and I can't hold it against her. Actually, I'm so fucking pleased with myself right now for following my instincts and finding they were right, that I'll let her violent outburst slip. This one, that is.

_ Hah! I'm here. I found you! _

I limp to the kitchen and pour some cold water in a glass, downing it eagerly. Then I find ice in the freezer and wrap a fistful in a kitchen towel before I roll up the left leg of my pants. I swallow hard as I look at my swollen knee that is beginning to discolor in bluish and red nuances.

Fuck!

That'd be some ligaments gone to hell. I wrap the ice around the wounded part and secure it by tying another towel around the first, groaning from the pain as I pull the knot tight. I have goosebumps all over already; it's not like I need the extra chill…

I stiffen and listen, my fingers still on the knot. I thought I heard something. If they're coming here soon, I'd better not just stand here more or less defenseless. I pull down my pant leg in a rush, yanking the fabric to get it past the knee. Then I hear it again; a soft cat-like mewling somewhere in the proximity. Or... An animal?

No…

I'm out of the kitchen in no time to locate the source. My heart pounds so hard that I can barely breathe. If that is what I think it is… Stopping in my tracks I can barely believe what I'm seeing and I forget about my pain, about Lisa, and fighting, about where we are and why we are here. 

In the room behind the main room, in the miniature bedroom, stands an old fashioned cradle of wood and in it lays a little girl with thick dark hair and the bluest eyes imaginable.

::

**Promises of Death**

It takes forever to limp all the way back to the house. My ankle hurts badly and every step is agonizing, but I keep on pushing myself forward with only one thought in my adrenaline-drenched brain:

Save Cecilia.

There's no doubt in my mind that he's already found her and in my worst moments I see before me how he's taken her and left. Without a trace. And that I'll never find out what happened to my daughter. I sob quietly. I have no doubt that he is capable of anything and everything and I expect the worst.

Crouching in the same bush I hid in before I attacked him, I study my home. It's almost completely dark outside now. A light has been turned on in the kitchen and I see tell-tale signs of a break-in in the faint light over my front door. I wait breathlessly for something, anything, to happen. At first there's no way of telling if he's still there or not, but then I see a shadow across the opposite wall in the kitchen and I start trembling, finally allowing some of my fear and a flood of relief to break through.

HE's still here. Meaning SHE's still here too.

I have to assume she still alive. I have no other choice. I crawl closer, knowing I'm invisible in the dark unless he suddenly decides to open the door. I don't hear anything. Why isn't she crying?

_ What have you done? You're her FATHER! _

She's just a little girl!

My heart beats so hard it almost makes me faint. I have to get inside. Now. I must. Tiptoeing to the back of the house I find that the back door is very much closed, as it should be, but I grit my teeth nonetheless. It's impossible to enter through the main door, because he will have to be virtually hiding in the bedroom or the bathroom not to see me. And I can't count on that. I stand in the cold darkness, puffs of white appearing and disappearing before my eyes, and I want to scream. I want to step up on the porch outside the front door, MY door, and scream at him to come out and show himself, to let me have my daughter, and then to just, just… disappear.

Forever.

But of course I don't.

And I'm at a loss as to what to do. I've never been so scared before in my life. MY life is nothing compared to Cece's and I'll do anything… ANYTHING… Then I know. The kitchen window can be opened from the outside. I have been meaning to fix it but it hasn't been done yet. I just need… I finger my pocket and haul up my keys. Barely breathing, I listen to whatever might come from the inside as I sneak up under the window and start to carve into the lower frame to try to get a grip and get it to swing open. There's a slight squeak as it does and I still completely, the seconds dragging into minutes, but nothing happens. Then I pull it open further, the warmer air from the inside feels like a caress against my skin as it rushes out through the opening.

I listen.

I hear nothing.

What's going ON?

The feeling of urgency is almost choking me. I start trying to heave myself up but my thick jacket gets caught and I shred it quickly, letting it fall to the ground. Then I realize my boots will give me away once I'm inside and kick them off too before I lift my body the rest of the way, dropping first my good foot and then the other to the kitchen floor, pulling the window with me in the process. I can't have him feel the draft and become suspicious.

Needing something to overpower him with, some leverage, I grab the largest knife out of the collection by the stove. No other is missing, but I have no doubt he brought his own.

_ God! _

I'm STUPID!

What if he has a gun? What if he has my shotgun? Why didn't I bring it with me when I went out?  _ FOCUS!  _ Think later.

Squeezing my fingers tightly around the shaft, my hand slick with sweat already, I slide across the floor on sock clad feet. I avoid the loose floorboard and stop by the door, pressing myself against the wall as I try not to breathe so hard.

_ IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou. _

Every pore exudes it and it pounds within me with every heartbeat. All I see is how I kill him -have to kill him - snatch Cecilia from his sinister grip, and rush to the car never to look back again. 

The handle of the knife almost slips out of my sweaty palm and my hand shakes so much that I have to press it to my chest for a moment. I wipe off my palm on my shirt and grip the knife tightly again.

I HAVE to. I must. If I don't… he'll kill us. I'm scared. One part of me, deep inside, wonder if I can really kill a human being. 

I feel more than hear a faint rustle of fabric in the main room and, having a sense of direction now, I make up my mind. I scream, at least I think I scream, as I throw myself through the room, the knife lifted, and bury it deep in the shoulder of Jackson who sits on the floor right next to my child.

She lives!

She cries. Terrified.

I would too with THAT creep next to me.

But she's alive!

I throw myself towards the wall by the front door and grab the gun that miraculously enough still hangs there. But as I move, he moves too, and I realize I've made one fatal error as he grabs Cecilia and pulls her into his lap with his good arm, clutching her tightly to his chest. I point the gun at him  _ them! _ and try to aim at his head. I tremble so badly that I can't keep the barrel still.

_ Oh, no!  _ "No, let her go," I sob.

"I don't think so," he counters with a grimace, his upper lip curled with anger.

"Please," I cry.

It's not until now that I get to see him clearly for the first time. He's been but a blur of limbs and hair, but now…

I barely recognize him.

Oh, I do. It's him; the same high cheekbones, the intensely blue eyes, and the completely flawless, almost innocent features of his face, but his hair is longer; it falls to his shoulders in unruly tresses. There's blood on his left cheek and in his hair on the same side, and at his left shoulder where my bread knife still protrudes. He's pale, his face a mask of focus and rage and his eyes flare dangerously as they meet mine.

Promising me death.

He hugs my baby tighter to him as she twists in his grip. "Shh, Cecilia, s'alright. Lower the gun, Leese. Look at where you're aiming for fuck's sake." His voice is commanding, demanding, almost making me want to give in. Because I think I'll faint soon anyway.

I look at my innocent daughter, caught in his grip - a new Reisert that he intends to corrupt.

_ No! _

_ NO! _

"If you let her go I'll lower it," I snarl.

He smirks. "We both know that's a lie."

::

**Showdown**

She looks so much like me that it almost breaks my heart. And she shows no fear at all in front of the stranger who stares at her as if he's seen a ghost, instead she raises her chubby little arms in the air and demand that I lift her. I give her a trembling hand and she grabs it with tiny, tiny little fingers and heaves herself out of the crib and onto the floor. I don't even know if she can walk and I'm afraid to touch her because I don't want to scare her.

The girl, Cecilia, my child,  _ MY _ child, toddles out of the bedroom and into the next and sits down by a red little car and a black plastic baby doll. It takes me a nanosecond to get back to breathing right again, then I follow her footsteps and crouch next to her.

"Caaa," she says and hands me the toy.

I have no doubt that she's mine. And she talks! And speaks!

She's incredible.

Rolling the little car across the floor, I say 'vroom-vroom' and she nods and giggles. 

Watching her play quietly with the doll I'm oblivious to how much time might have passed when a shrieking blur of arms and legs suddenly throws itself at me. My reflexes serve me and I manage to jerk just a little to the side but something hits me nonetheless and I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder.

_ FUCK! _

When Lisa, because it is a beyond ferocious Lisa who has returned, doesn't come at me again but rips something from the doorframe, all the warning signals in my head finally come together like one. Instinctively, I snatch the kid from where she's sitting, hiccupping and frightened, and clutch her tightly to my chest with my right arm as I press the hand to my wounded shoulder. HELL it hurts. My fingers feel the shaft of a knife. I wonder briefly how much damage it has done, but looking in front of me I realize I'll have to think of that later.

If there'll be a 'later'.

I don't know what the fuck's wrong with Lisa, but she seems to have lost it completely as she points a dangerously wobbling shotgun at us.

It's the first time I get to see her clearly. Until now she's been nothing but a haze of flailing limbs. She looks like a mere shadow of who she used to be. Her hair is short; it looks chopped off, as if she's cutting it herself. She's pale and thin, a lot thinner than she was before and her eyes are huge and dark, fear and hate oozing off her in almost palpable waves.

_ Careful, woman! Look at who you have at gunpoint!  _ I tell her to lower it, she tells me to let go of the baby. Fat chance. Her eyes tell me to go fuck myself.

Catch 22.

"DO IT!" she roars with a strength I'd never have thought that frail body possessed.

"Let go of the weapon, Lisa. Let's talk about this."

"Don't hurt her," she wails. "Please don't hurt her; she's all I've got."

I have an eerie déjà vu from Winnipeg. Funny how long ago it seems now. Was it yesterday? I hug the little kid tighter. She's crying in distress from seeing her mother acting so strangely and that's hardly my problem, but I don't want her to become scared of me so I make some cooing sounds to try to calm her.

"Leese!" I say bluntly. "The only one who's potentially hurting her at this moment is you and your fucking gun. Lower it NOW!" I raise my arm and hold it over Cecilia's throat instead for emphasis. I wouldn't dream of hurting her, but the maniac before me doesn't know that and she's working on primal instincts right now so I have to meet her on that level. Fighting to gauge her state of mind, and to plan my next move in this sudden mess, I can't stop my thoughts from wandering, and I can't help but notice that she's afraid this time. Really, really afraid. I almost don't recognize her; she's always been so cocky.

No wonder, though, she's a woman, a female, defending her breed.

Her eyes are bloodshot. "Please," she hiccups. I answer with a raised eyebrow.

_ Not so feisty now, huh?  _ Not like last time when I did everything in my power to break her, and she still kept her core of superiority, teasing me, mocking me... I deserve some fucking respect. Seems I did break her after all. 

I don’t feel the least victorious. 

When the black slimy substance, consisting of what I did to her the last time, once again tries to resurface I quickly put the lid back on. I can't… think of that. It takes my focus away from the task of survival.

I see her before me like she used to be: soft, feminine, trusting. I see her under me. I see her screaming my name, but not in fear, and not in pain.

There she goes again! 

Distracting me without even lifting a fucking finger! 

_ FUCK! _ I want to hurt her. For distracting me. For slamming hard objects in my head, shoving a fucking knife in my shoulder and damaging my knee. For always, ALWAYS, fucking fighting me!

She is crying freely now, the shotgun shaking violently, dangerously swaying before us. "Please, Jackson, please let my baby go!"

I glare at her frail, trembling form. I want to- No, I don't. That's not true. I have a child. Leese is a mother and I actually have a child, and she's a beautiful little creature with dark hair and blue, blue eyes. I see myself in her, and yet I don't. I can't believe I've ever been so small, so vulnerable, so innocent. She could be hurt so easily. The thought makes me clutch her little form harder, keeping the barrel in focus. I'll kill anyone who ever even gives her a scratch. And it won't be quick, I'll take my time, making sure they have plenty of time to re-think their decision to ever get close to my flesh and blood.

I almost let go of her in shock as I realize that I could be the cause of her being in danger. That my life style probably has given me a fuckin' continent of enemies.

Given HER enemies.


	9. Survival Tactics

In spite of my swollen knee screaming at me in protest, I slowly get up from my sitting position into a crouch. Cecilia is still securely with me in my lap. She's my little armor right now, protecting me from her mother who's gone totally berserk. I keep my eyes trained on Lisa's dark tormented gaze and she never lets go of mine.

"Alright, take it easy. I'm not here to hurt anyone, I just want to talk. Okay?" My voice is as soothing as I can manage under the circumstances. I hurt almost everywhere. It's fucking tiring.

She clutches the gun tighter as I speak. "Drop her!" she croaks, barely able to speak any more.

"I will. Okay? Just to show that I mean no harm. Just take it easy with that thing, Leese, we don't want anyone to get killed." My legs tense and I inhale, then I shove Cecilia towards Lisa as I burst up and knock the wind out of her by slamming the stock of the gun into her stomach. She stumbles back and I grip around the barrel using it as a bat as I jerk it out of her hands and connect the stock with her face. She falls to the floor, squealing and writhing in pain, clutching her bleeding nose and gasping for air.

_ Too easy. _

The little one wails and stumbles towards the fallen woman. "Mu-hmhy," she hiccups.

"Mommy'll be just fine, she just hasn't learned how to play with the big boys yet," I say coldly as I secure the gun and cock it open, pocketing the two cartridges before I open the door and hurl the fucking piece as far as I can throw. Guns are sloppy, random, and trashy. People tend to get hurt by them even unintentionally.

I know.

Lisa is wild-eyed and bleeding profusely from her nose as she scoops Cecilia into her arms, glaring hatefully in my direction.

I raise an eyebrow at her as I go to the mirror and examine the fucking knife that still sits embedded in my shoulder. It's a bread knife. She tried to do me in with a kitchen tool! I'm able to flex and straighten my elbow, and I can feel my fingers; all good signs. My gaze shifts between the wound and Lisa as I see her stir slightly.

Wounded but not down. Maybe not as broken as I first thought. Interesting. "Move one inch and I'm gonna fuckin' rip your skull from your spine. Got it?" I snarl.

She doesn't answer, but she doesn't move either and I can focus on getting the blade out of my flesh. I groan as I touch it even a little. There's only one way to do this. I give Lisa a dark glance again and then I grip the handle and pull it all the way out in one single move.

"Awwww FUCK!" I roar, feeling as if it's tearing me to pieces. I drop the knife to the floor with a clattering sound and feel my knees weaken for a few moments.  _ Get a GRIP!  _ If I faint, I'm dead. I glance at my pale reflection in the mirror. Blood flows from my shoulder. My face and neck are halfway covered in dried blood from the wound on the side of my head. I look like I've been run over by a train. And I feel like it too. Glaring at the huddling woman, who doesn't look half as bad as I do, I have to suppress the immediate instinct to slam my fist in her face. I'm gonna have to calm down before I do something irreversible. Again. 

_ You! _

::

**Overpowered**

It happens so fast. I see Cece start to fall, or more like tumble, when he lets go of her and then he's a blur of limbs and the next thing I know I'm lying on the floor, gasping for air and clutching my face, my lips and nose hurting immensely. He's on his feet and he has my gun.

_ I'm dead. _

I close my eyes and hug my daughter tightly to me. She hiccups and cries in my embrace. I want to cry with her. God, don't make her feel any pain. Please let it be quick. I hear a clicking noise and swallow hard.  _ Please, Jackson… _ I don't want to beg, not to him, but the last time I didn't beg it ended with disaster and this is not the time to be proud.

Inhaling shakily to speak, I look up at him and realize he's not pointing the gun at us. He's disassembling it.  _ What? _ He glares at me and says something snarky about me not being able to play like the big boys. 

_ I never wanted to. I just wanted a life! _

The ice cold wind hurls through the room in an instant as he opens the door and shoves my gun far out of sight.  _ Ah! _ Yeah, I remember;  _ 'I'm a lousy shot' _ . But no one is that bad a shot, why didn't he…? I get a glimpse of the outside; it's started snowing again. He forces the door shut against the elements of winter and leans against it for a moment, regarding me. When he moves and turns away from me, I move. It's like an instinct. If he isn't on his guard, then I can try to wound him.

But he is; he doesn't miss an inch of what I'm doing and I have to refrain from moving and sit quietly with Cecilia in my lap and watch him examine his wounds. With a roar that makes me nauseous with fright, he pulls out the knife. It looks so gross that I can barely watch and I turn Cece's head away for a moment. She jerks as he growls and writhes in my grip, crying again.

I did that… I should've aimed better..

I kiss my daughter on the head and whisper that it's alright, that there's nothing to be afraid of.  _ Please, God, let it be the truth.  _ At least regarding her. There'll be hurt for me, more hurt, I know it. That's all he's ever done. Hurt me. And if he's been looking for us… for me… the thought of it all is too painful to even think, so I try not to.

I hug her tighter and shuffle all the way back until I hit the wall when he stalks closer to us. He's limping quite badly. The expression on his face is closed and I can't read anything from it.

"Please," I rasp.

"Please what?" he snarls.

"Please don't hurt  _ her _ , at least..."

He snorts and my heart sinks like a stone. Then he smiles. Towards her. And his eyes change for a moment before they turn back to me with their frightening coldness. "Wouldn't fucking dream of it."

"Ple…"  _ What? _ "You… oh."  _ You wouldn't? _ "I find that hard to believe," I sneer.

"And why is that?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, a muscle on the side of his jaws clenching and unclenching.

"Be… because you… do." I swallow hard. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to mention the things he's done, it hurts too much to even think it. But he's here, and I have no choice. "You hurt… people."

His lips curl as he glares at me. "Right," he says after a moment. "That I do. But I'm not gonna hurt her. She's my kid for fuck's sake. How much of a freak do you think I am?"

_ You wouldn't know!  _ "I-" My concentration is shattered as Cecilia's hand comes up to stroke my chin. 

"Mama, am angwy."

I try to smile against the threatening tears. "Yes, sweetie, the man is angry, but it's alright. Nothing bad s'gonna happen."

She shakes her head. "Angwy." I frown. She strokes her belly. "Eatballs."

"You... oh!"

When I look up, Jackson has crouched before us, his left leg stretched out. "What?" he says, not entirely unfriendly.

"I… she… she needs to eat," I say submissively.

His gaze shifts from me to her and then back to me again. "So feed her," he then says simply and shrugs.

It takes me a couple of moments before I understand. I lick my lips nervously, glancing warily at him as I rise and let her down on the floor. My ankle sends off a stab of pain.

He gets up with me and follows us into the kitchen. Then he just stands there, like a looming shadow, leaning against the doorframe.

"Can't you leave us alone for one second," I snarl. "You're making me nervous." And it's true. My hands shake as I bring out frozen meatballs and pasta putting them on the counter.

He snorts. "Couldn't really leave you alone with even kitchen utensils, now could I?"

My cheeks turn hot and I refuse to answer. I drop the heavy pan dangerously close to my right foot and then I fiddle so much with the pot that I almost drop it too. His gaze burn holes in my back and I feel my heart thudding, thumping, slamming against the inside of my ribcage. I give Cece a piece of bread to chew on while she waits. She's playing with her fork and spoon and I'm happy she seems so unaffected.

I'm not.

"I could use some of that too," he suddenly says.

_ What?  _ I can't believe the nerve. "There's a diner down in Middlebro," I mutter.

"Tried it, it sucks. They must be Germans or something."

"So stay hungry," I snarl.

"I need to eat, Leese, and I'm going to whether you like it or not. Here." His voice is calm.

Mine isn't. My cheeks turn hot as I turn towards him. "I'm not letting you eat MY food! If you're hungry, you know your way outta here and back down to the town."

"I'm not gonna fight over this -"

"That'd be a first-"

"As it is, I'm here now and you're gonna give me something to eat."

"Fuck you," I mouth and turn away from him.

"What was that?" He takes a step closer and I stiffen, stirring intensely with a fork in the boiling water, unable to remember if I put salt in it or not.

"You're just going to take whatever you want anyway, aren't you? That's what you always do."

"What I always do, huh?" He comes even closer. My whole spine tingles almost painfully from his presence. My hand that holds the pot handle clenches harder and harder until my knuckles whiten. I look down at the hot steam and the bubbles underneath.  _ I could throw the water in his face… _ I don't even get to think the thought to its end when I feel something at my side. I make a move to look, but freeze when I hear his low voice in my ear.

"Let go of that handle. I know what you're thinking, but think again. I'm faster and stronger than you, baby, you'd only end up somewhere you'd rather not."

It's almost difficult; my joints crack when I release the would-be weapon. Then I glance down at my side, realizing he's holding his knife to my waist. My gaze darts to the other side of the room, to Cecilia, but she hasn't seen anything and seems blissfully unaware of the tense atmosphere.

The egg timer beeps, making us both jump. I prepare the little meal for my daughter with violently trembling hands. Jackson has taken a step back and follows my every move. I risk a glance at him. His pale blue shirt is blackish red and glistening all over his left sleeve. "You're bleeding," I mutter, unwilling to help him in any way but at the same time unable to not comment on the obvious.

He turns his head and looks at the mess. "Yes. You shoved a knife in my shoulder."

When he still doesn't make any attempt to stop it, I can't help myself. "But for God's sake, clean it up!" I hiss.

He smirks. "Why, Leese, does it bother you?"

"You're soiling my floor, and that bothers me," I snarl. And he really is. Just his presence has soiled my house, but his left hand is drenched in fresh blood and it does drip, splattering dark red on the wooden floor below him. I already know I won't bother to clean it. I know I'll leave the house as soon as I get the chance and never return. Ever. IF I get the chance.

Jackson looks at his side and his face twists. Then he starts unbuttoning his shirt with his right hand and I look away, my mouth suddenly dry.

Cecilia comes and pulls my hand in the midst of the turmoil and startles me. My mind wasn't even in Canada but she drags me right back in an instant.

"Go feed her," he says, nodding towards the main room as he pulls off his shirt entirely. He grabs a towel from the counter and starts pressing it against the wound. "I'll make something on my own. I can't take the risk of having you make my food. I'd only end up drinking bleech or munch on rat poison. Wouldn't I?"

I refuse to meet his gaze and scoop her up on one hip, her plate in my other hand, leaving the little room with a sigh of relief.

::

**Fallen Trees and Lost Strangers –Ray McConaghan**

"I don't like it, Ray-Ray. I don't like it one bit."

"Aw, come on, Beth. He prolly decided to just hit the road again." He fiddles with a thread that sticks out of his sleeve. Pulling, yanking. He knows it looks sloppy and it annoys him.

She points to the counter where the half written sheet of paper lies next to the key to room number nine. "Does this look like someone that suddenly decided to leave? Huh? He said he'd stay the night, then he had to get his wallet at Dan's, but I saw that he went the same way ya did and not to Dan and I can't help but wonder where he went. He obviously went the wrong way and is lost out there somewhere."

Ray shrugs and wishes he was somewhere else. He really doesn't feel like looking for lost city folks. Not tonight. Not in this storm.

"There's nothing out there, Ray. He could've gotten stuck and be in need of a tow. He could die…"

Her voice is almost as nagging and persistent as Mom's. He usually likes to chat with Beth. But not now, not when she is like this. He wishes he was home.

"Ray!"

And he knows that voice. He gives up. "Yeahokay Bethy. I'll go take a look," he says, dully. His steps are heavy and when the doors slam shut behind him, shutting him out from the warmth and the friendly light, he feels utterly abandoned. Bracing himself from the onslaught of snow, he manages to get inside his pick up and gets it rolling. "There's nothing out here," he mutters to himself, the wipers working at maximum speed and the visibility is still virtually down to zero. All he sees is snow, snow, snow, and some more snow. His old tire tracks are almost invisible but there's still a slight indentation in the thickening white cover.

"There's noth…" But there is.

It's almost dark but in the reflection from the headlights he sees a similar pair of tracks like the ones he made going onto the side road to Greg Barnsby's old place, abandoned for ten years or more. He died. He doesn't quite remember what happened. Mom used to know him.

When he turns off the ignition the world still doesn't go silent. The wind hurls the snow around the car and whines like a whole truck load of Moms. The surrounding trees crack and groan and seeing several fallen branches on the road he wonders how smart it really was to come back out here. The snow immediately finds its way inside his collar, his nose, eyes and ears as he steps out of the car.

"Whatta fuck?" he whispers and pulls the coat tighter. "Anybody outtere?" he shouts to the darkening forest, but of course there's no answer. The deep white swallows every sound, every thought. Hesitantly, he takes a few steps onto the side road, spotting the contour of the abandoned car almost in an instant. He stumbles backwards. He knows there'll be a dead body in the car. The stranger will be in there, frozen to death, staring at him with milky eyes. He wants to go home. To Mom. To his little birds. To anywhere but here. Then he thinks of the yelling he'll get from Beth and suddenly a dead guy doesn't seem as bad as her disapproval.

"Shit," he mutters and closes in on the abandoned vehicle with lead filled feet. "Shitshitshit."

He hears the loud crack and, being born and raised here, he knows what it means eons before the disaster. He just doesn't know where to run to when the large tree starts falling. The thicker middle part smashes the stranger's sedan into a flat, very un-car like piece of metal, and the large crown of the tree is effectively blocking the way for Ray's pick up to go anywhere at all.

"Huh," is all he can think of saying, staring at the mess in front of him. After a moment of shock, he starts walking. There's only one thing to do, really. His steps are labored and his mind full of dread.

_ Lisa'll be so angry when I show up. _


	10. Bloody Mess

**Bloody Mess**

I sit in the armchair in silence, teeth clenched to suppress the pain, as I watch Lisa feed our daughter and then disappear into the bedroom for twenty minutes, putting the little one to bed. 

To my great surprise Lisa does come back out afterwards. I would have thought she’d barricade herself in there. But I bet she feels a need to keep an eye on me. Her gaze is painfully dark and void of emotions. She warily sits down on the couch, her eyes trained on me. 

My body has been screaming at me for a while now, and I have been biding my time. I have to spend some quality time with hot water and soap. I need to clean my shirt and look at the wound, get the dried blood out of my hair and tend to my knee. There's no way in hell I'm doing that while she's on the loose in the house. She'd surely find a way to get to me. Knowing her, she'd probably get the very roof to cave in at the exact spot where I'm standing. She is the most inventive person I've ever met. I get up with a grimace. 

"I have things I need to do. I'm gonna have to tie you up, Lisa. Where do you prefer I do it?"

Bouncing up off the couch her earlier look of exhaustion vanishes and is replaced by a fear so strong I can smell it. "What? Wait! No! No way!" she bellows. She has risen so forcefully that the CD, still playing some random blues, hitches once.

She tries to side step away from me so I have to intervene and grip around her waist with my good arm. "I won't hesitate to hurt you if you fight me," I hiss in her ear. "Trust me I will, but it's not my intention so just play along nicely and that'd be a feat." I pant and wince from the pain of having to hold her still and I feel the bandage over my shoulder getting wetter and colder.

Squirming and snarling, she tries to slam her head against my face. Her limbs are everywhere and I realize I'm too weak. I won't be able to hold her and that just won't do. I shove her hard and she falls onto the couch, then I slam down on her.

"I was fucking trying to be nice," I growll. Forcing her to stay down by sitting on her, I then cover her mouth and nose with my right hand. I could wrap my hand around her slender throat and squeeze. My fingers would probably fit all the way around. It'd be easier… But it would be sinister, cruel, a much more painful and damaging way to achieve the same result. And for some reason I have no will to hurt. A long time ago I wanted her in pain, wounded. Dead. 

At least I thought I wanted it.

But that was a long time ago.

Her eyes go wider than I thought possible and then they fill with tears as she tries to bend her head away, shaking it and pleading with me wordlessly to let her breathe as her legs kick behind my back, to no avail. I regard her attempts to get me off her. Even wounded and weak this is easy for me, I know what I'm doing and this will go either one of two ways: she can submit - and breathe - or she can faint from lack of oxygen.

I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Leaning close, nose to nose, I catch her panicked gaze. "I can let you breathe, sweetheart, but then we're gonna do this my way. Got it?"

Her chest heaves and hitches as she nods repeatedly.

Good girl.

I let go and she inhales with a long wheeze before a stream of words start pouring out between her lips while tears trickle from the corners of her eyes.

"Ja- Jackson… Please don't kill me. Please don't. Cecilia needs me, I'm her mother and she's so little. I don't really care what you do with me but please don't kill me and please don't take her from me, please Jackso-" Her voice finally breaks and she erupts in sobs.

I wait patiently for her to get it off her chest while I look around for something to tie her up with. When she is silent, I snap my belt open and pull it away from my waist.

Her head jerks up and then there are more tears. "No," she whispers. "No, not that…"

I look at her, frowning, and then at the belt and it takes me a moment to get it. Instantly, a wave of nausea washes over me.  _ No! Not that.  _ "Leese, Leese… I'm gonna… I'm not…"  _ Fuck! _ "I'm just gonna tie you up. Just that. Okay? I need to see to my wound and clean up and I just don't trust you to not leap around and plot against me. Are we clear? Nothing else's gonna happen."

She looks miserable. Possibly the unhappiest I've ever seen her, but then she nods.

"Put your hands behind your back." I get up and let her turn, then I wrap the belt around her wrists and pull until she can't get out of it.

"Jackson," she whispers.

I stop and look at her.

"Please don't take her."

I regard her for a moment. I could reassure her that I won't, but I don't. I don't make promises. And I probably need the leverage. I flip her over on her belly making it impossible for her to look so pleadingly at me with those doe-like eyes. Then I unwrap the torn and bloodied strips of sheet off my chest, tying it around the belted hands and then around her ankles, pulling them together behind her back. The fabric's grisly, but it'll have to do.

::

**Friend In Need**

"I'm gonna have to tie you up."

When his words reach my sluggish brain, I react in an instant. NO!  _ NONONONONO! You're gonna rape me, and then take Cecilia from me and then you're gonna kill me, or leave me here and… or… NO!  _ I jump up off the couch, trying to get away, but he is faster and much, much stronger and I find myself squeezed against his hard body, his arm digging painfully into my waist. When he throws me back on the couch I KNOW what will happen and fight him tooth and nail until his hand comes up to cover my face, making it virtually impossible for me to breathe. I almost black out from the pain in my damaged, possibly broken, nose when he pinches it. And then he speaks, and keeps speaking, but I barely hear him. My whole body is tingling from the lack of air when I decide to stop fighting, nodding for him to go ahead with whatever. Because I don't want to die.

I will do as he wishes, because I…

Then I hear the rattle of metal, the unsnapping of a belt, and something inside me bursts. I won't fight. I know I won't, I shouldn't, but… _No!_ _Please._ My voice doesn't carry the words and I can only whisper out my pathetic plea. 

"No… not that…" And I'm stunned to see the look on his face. He looks as shocked as I feel. Maybe it's wrong, but somewhere a faint ray of hope is lit within me and I let him proceed with tying me up without any more struggling. There's only one real fear left that still vibrates in my chest. "Please, don't take her," I beg.  _ Please. _

He purses his lips as he regards me. His eyes are cold as the night outside and then he says nothing. Nothing at all, and I'm left alone with my pounding heart and my thoughts, tied up as if I'm an animal.

_ He didn't answer! _

I watch his back as he leaves for the bathroom. He almost shuts the door, leaving only a crack. I'm thankful that I don't have to watch him undress. Wriggling, I try my bonds but he has obviously done this before and I'm not getting them to slacken even the slightest. Instead I try to find the least uncomfortable position on the cushions and close my eyes. I'm so tired. Sleep could easily claim me if I didn't refuse it. When did I get so tired? I try to listen for Cece's light snoring from the bedroom, but the noise from the water running in the bathroom drowns out all other sounds, just as his mere presence here drowns out my thoughts. I can't think coherently, my mind's just as bound as my body and I don't know what to do, how to save us. I've tried my damndest. By hiding, but he found us. By trying to hit him in the head and then stab him, but he lives.

At first I think it's Jackson who has finished in the bathroom, but then I hear that the scraping sound comes from outside my front door and then there's a hesitant knock.

_ Someone's knocking on my door! _

My earlier drowsiness is gone in a fraction of a second and I glance at the bathroom. The water is still running and the door seems untouched. My heart pounds wildly.  _ Save us! Please! Whoever you are! _

"Lisa?" The voice is low, male, trembling.

_ Ray! Oh, Ray! I think I love you!  _ "Help," I say, not too loud, my gaze shifting between the bathroom door and the front door. I swallow hard, adrenaline flowing through my veins again.  _ Dear God, hear me! _

"Lisa, are you there?"

"Ray, help. Help us!" I say, a little louder, hoping my voice is strong enough to reach his ears through the raging storm, but not loud enough to alert Jackson. Transfixed, I stare at the door knob when it twists slightly.  _ Please, don't let it be locked! _ I can't remember if it is. "I'm here, Ray," I say again, glancing terrified at the bathroom door. "Help!"

Tears flood my eyes when I watch the door open, the wind immediately shoving whirls of snowflakes through the opening. And then I see the most beautiful sight I've seen in a long time: Ray. Good, kind, sweet Ray fills the door with a confused look on his face. He's covered in snow, I can only see a nose and puffy cheeks under the large fur piece he has pushed down over his head.

"Ray!" I whisper loudly. "Here!"

His eyes go huge as he sees me, lying like a tied up bundle of flesh on the couch. "Li- what?" He takes a hesitant step towards me.

I glance nervously at the bathroom door and then back at Ray. "Close the door, untie me. Quick!"

He takes off his hat and walks a step closer when I hear a tiny squeak from the other side of the room. My eyes dart towards the sound.  _ No! Nononono! Ray, RUN _ !

A half-naked Jackson is standing in the doorway, a bloodied towel wrenched between his hands, his lips tightly pressed. I sense the lethal danger. It's spreading like a suffocating mist through the air.

"Ray!" I scream. "Get out of here! GET OUT!"

But he's slow, he's not getting it. He's always been slow.

Jackson's steps are measured and predatory as he strolls closer, almost casually. He is naked from the waist up, there's a sheathed knife in the side pocket of his pant leg. The wound on his left shoulder is still bleeding slightly. He wipes his hands on the towel, his moves careful, as if not to frighten anyone.

The skin on my back suddenly feels a size too small and I begin to tremble uncontrollably.

"Eh…ehm… whatave ya done to Lisa?" Ray asks.

"Get the fuck out of here, Ray!" I bellow.

"Ma car… it broke, ehm, I mean a tree and…" He looks at Jackson. "Ain't ya… didn't we?"

I see it as it happens. When he gets it.  _ God! _

"Are ya Lisa's husband? The one she's been running from?" His eyes go wider.

Jackson's eyes dart to me and an amused look passes his features. I twist my lips into a grimace.

"Ahm… ahm gonna go and… ya can't just…" He takes a step back, and then another one before he turns his back and wriggles himself through the door opening and back out into the storm.

A blur of limbs comes flying through the room. I scream out loud when Jackson with a growl passes me and runs after Ray.

"Jackson! NO! Don't hurt him, he's just… DON'T HURT HIM!"

But they're gone.

::

**Three's a Crowd**

It's bliss to rinse the goo out of my hair. I wash my face in ice cold water and in a few moments I feel rejuvenated and ready to take care of the deep gash in my shoulder. It still bleeds pretty badly, but the blade hit nothing but muscle. It could've been much worse.

I take my time. SHE needs to calm the fuck down. Then we can talk.  _ About fucking what? _

Or maybe just eat and sleep.

I'm lost in thought as I press a towel to the wound, trying to compress it and make it stop bleeding, and that's when I feel it: icy gusts of wind coming through the crack in the doorway.  _ What the fuck?  _ I pull it open carefully but the hinges are old and protest a little.

I can't believe what I'm seeing.  _ He's following me!  _ In the middle of the room stands the fat fag. The same fucking retard I dodged earlier today.  His mouth opens and closes and he has the look of a fish out of water as his gaze shifts between the tied up Lisa and me. I'm grateful he never had the chance to untie her. She's a menace.

"Get out of here, Ray!" she screams in panic. 

_ She's right, you know. _ My heart pounds a little harder, giving me that edge, the rush of adrenaline. Sliding closer, I feel the weight of the knife against my right thigh. I have a habit of never going anywhere without it, a routine that has proven useful on many occasions.

Lisa wriggles and screams but I barely hear her. I'm completely focused on the man before me. Of course I can't let him get away. It'd get… complicated.

I don't like complicated. I have quite enough of complicated as it is.

He stutters and tries to put the pieces together.

_ Husband? _

_ Really? _

I glance at Lisa and grin.  _ That's what you told them? Wishful thinking?  _

When he backs out the door, I move. I don't even feel the biting cold on my naked skin as I throw myself after him and push him down the stairs. We tumble off the porch and he lands on his back with a quiet thud in the deep snow. I hit his face with my fist, once, twice. He flails and tries to get me off him. I roll off and in one fluent move I have the blade in my right hand and press it to his cheek, its sharp tip half an inch from his left eye.

His chins wobble as he tries to crawl back. "No!" he squeals.

"It's a domestic thing, Ray." Blinking snowflakes out of my eyes, I smirk. I've wanted to do this since I first saw him. I whip the knife off of his face and shove it deep into the side of his chest. It feels like cutting through butter. A big fat chunk of butter.

He screams. Loud and frightened.

"Did you feel that?" I pant. "That is me being annoyed." I pull it out and twist the glistening blade before his face again as I spit out the snow that keeps getting in my mouth. "But I'm not annoyed, Ray. Do you know what I am?"

He coughs. "Li- Lisa's husband?"

I frown and snort.  _ You're so fucking stupid.  _ "I'm fucking furious, Ray. You're meddling in other people's’ business. Don't-" I press the tip of the blade to the side of his neck. "-ever-" The tip pierces the skin and he howls with fear. "-do that!"

I push all the way, burying it to the hilt in his neck and then I flick my wrist, cutting through the front of his neck, all the way to the other side, severing veins, arteries, tendons, and windpipe. Jumping back, I'm off him before I'm covered in blood. He gargles and his arms flail as he tries to press his hands to the gash. As if it could help him now. He’s both bleeding out as well as drowning in his own blood. There’s no saving that.

Standing next to him, I watch the final twitches of life fading. His hands fall to the sides, he’s nearly as pale as the snow. Then I look at the mess; his unbelievably heavy corpse, a pool of dark red spreading through the snow, flakes melting as they hit the steaming blood. Oh for fuck’s sake. He’ll be a nuisance even in death. I'll have to get rid of the carcass before Lisa, or Cecilia sees it.

But not tonight. I'm drained.

I wipe off the knife on the man’s pants, then I straighten and start walking back to the still open front door, wet, my teeth chattering from the cold, and covered in goosebumps. I suddenly feel like I'm in the wrong place. Inside is my innocent daughter, and a woman I keep tormenting for no apparent reason other than that I once hurt her and have been wanting to redeem myself ever since. The last step through the door is the most difficult I've ever taken in my life, knowing I'll have to face Lisa again.

With whom I am. What I am.

And the things I've done.


	11. Abyss

I scream myself hoarse until I realize I could wake my daughter. Then I snap my mouth closed immediately, biting my lower lip until a metallic taste fills my mouth, praying to God she hasn't heard anything of what's happened. Instead I start trying to free myself, ferociously yanking, pulling, fighting to get a grip on the knots and loops that keep me subdued. I end up hitting the side of my chest against the sharp corner of the table as I fall off the sofa. Falling on my face in the narrow space between the table and the couch, I sob helplessly, gasping from pain, unable to tell which agony is worse: the inner, or the outer.

I have no illusions about Ray's fate, and it feels as if my heart's bursting in sorrow. He's been so kind. He's helped us so much.

The carpet smells old and dusty. I hear the door slam shut. Turning my head, I look at a pair of black shoes covered in slowly melting snow. They're attached to a pair of legs in dark pants, the rest I can't see because I can't get my head up enough to get the angle right. And I can't say that I care enough to want to look at him anyway. He doesn't speak, and after a while I'm beginning to think that I've finally gone insane. There IS a man here, standing inches from my face. The snow on his shoes has melted completely and the carpet is damp where he stands. His shoes aren't fit for winter; the leather has been damaged by the wetness.

He still doesn't move.

I lift my head and strain to look higher. I'm not crazy. He IS here.

Finally, with a groan, he crouches before me and I'm almost, almost relieved to find that it was true, that my senses weren't deceiving me. Deft fingers start untying the knots connecting my hands with my feet. "Lisa," a voice floating in the air above me says. "We should go to bed." His voice is tired, raspy… old. He sounds old.

"I'm not going to bed with you," I respond dully, without even thinking. But it's true. It's true and I don't care about what he'll say about it.

He shoves the table to the side and flips me over on my back. His eyes are like dark bottomless swamps, his fingers quicksand, his touch sucking me into depths that swallow me whole, like a dying sun, a black hole.  _ Don't pull me in! I couldn't live in there! How can anyone? _

"Yeah," he says tiredly.

I feel my hands get loose and then my ankles. I'm numb. I barely feel my feet and I can't lift my arms. They're so heavy. I don't even care to try.  _ You'll kill us anyway. What's the point? _

"Get up, Leese," he says. "Go on." A little more edge to his voice now, less old, still tired. When I don't move, I feel his arms sneak under my back and thighs and then the ceiling comes rushing closer as he hugs me to his chest. His skin is so cold. Is he dead? I float. My head spins. I fixate on his left shoulder. There's a gaping wound there. It bleeds. I think I did that. I had a knife. Where is it now? Why didn't he die? I bounce when he drops me on my mattress.

"Get some sleep." His voice isn't entirely unfriendly. I wonder how a voice of a murderer should sound. Not friendly anyway, I decide. Murderous probably. 

I look at his back when he disappears out of my bedroom. Then the door closes almost completely and I hear a scraping sound, as if a heavy piece of furniture is being moved. I stare at the narrow crack between the door and the frame until my eyes water and I realize I'm not blinking. My arms are still so heavy and they tingle and ache uncomfortably when I move them. Pulling Cecilia's cradle close, I lift her relaxed body and snuggle close, her back to my chest. Her scent is wonderful, powdery, clean, and the skin on her neck is so, so soft. Her breaths are even and soothing. At least  _ she's _ not worried. That’s good. My whole body aches. When I finally start feeling it, it's hard to believe that I could stand up at all before. My ankle pounds with pain, my lips and nose hurt like hell whenever I move a muscle in my face, and each breath I take sends spikes of hurt through an area to the left in my chest. The pain makes me come back to myself a little. I can't allow myself to drift. I can't let him take control. I need to focus on what's important.

Getting us out of here.

At least he hasn't tried to touch me yet, and he hasn't hurt Cecilia, but I can't figure out what he wants. What am I to him? Why does he keep following me? Eight WEEKS before the Lux Atlantic hit; he said that himself. Then he showed up after a month again and was really… really… horrifying. I didn't recognize him at all. The smooth-talking, charming stranger had turned into a crazy-eyed monster with rough fingers and a touch that hurt. And if I thought he'd wounded me during the red eye flight, and after, when he chased me through my father's house, I was dead wrong.

He came to kill me. He really intended to kill me, but I was so angry, and I refused to become a humiliated puddle of fear before him… 

It must've ticked him off badly; hurt his giant ego.

And then… he raped me. HE. The one who's outside that door. It feels as if it's such a long time ago. I barely remember it any more.

Like I was another woman.

Like it was another man.

But it's not. It's HIM. I remember how angry he got. How angry I made him. I think I MADE him lose control. I'm NOT taking the blame! HE is the one who keeps doing things that hurt other people. And he is obsessed with me. With ME.

_ Why me? _

I HAVE to get out of here. WE have to leave as soon as we can.

In a way, a strange way, I feel like I know him; I know how unpredictable he is. I don't trust that he won't suddenly hurt me, or kill me, and then take Cecilia. My chest clenches in fear at the thought and I feel utterly helpless, locked up here in my own bedroom with HIM right on the other side of that door. I keep seeing him before me: his blue eyes that can look so honest and sweet, and then turn ice cold within a fraction of a second, that can glisten with hate, and then turn sad and reproachful.

I don't get him.

IS there a way to get through to him? To reach past the darkness that must exist inside such a man? To maybe make him leave us alone and realize there's nothing to win, only losses to us all. I shudder. It's not very likely, and the only thing that would happen is that I would get sucked into that abyss too. If I'm not already there.

Twisting and turning, I finally have to lift my baby back into her own bed because she's groaning and starting to protest.

And I can't sleep. 

I end up entangled in my sheets and blankets and have to start over again, smoothing them out. And then it doesn't take long before I've wrapped myself into a messy bundle again. My whole body screams at me. He's out there. He's sleeping only a few feet away, right on the other side of that door! When I'm finally starting to calm a little my heart starts beating harder again when I think of Ray.  _ Oh, God! _ Hot tears burn on the insides of my eyelids and my chest aches with sadness.

This is a nightmare.

I get up and start pacing the tiny chamber, immediately feeling bodily needs I have forgotten about the whole evening. My stomach groans and whines in protest from having been denied for so many hours, my tongue feels like sandpaper, and I desperately need to pee. I'm at a loss as to what to do. I turn on the little lamp on the side table and the room bathes in a warm yellow light. I look around me for a can, or a bowl to use, but there's nothing in here but pillows, blankets, and books. Cozy things. Useless things. Items made for another life. Panic rises within when I even think of having to get past him.

_ What if he doesn't wake? What if he's so tired that he'll sleep even if you tiptoe past him? _

My pulse races at the thought, but I'm not sure enough to take the chance of bringing Cece and try to get out, though. I just want to go to the bathroom. I carefully push at the door, opening the crack a little wider, and immediately the door connects with something unyielding on the outside. I swallow hard and close my eyes.  _ Shit!  _ I listen but hear nothing but my own heart beats. Finally I have to say something.

"Jackson?" I whisper.

"Yeah," he whispers back from the other side of the door.

I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. "I need to use the bathroom." At first there's nothing, then I hear a floorboard crack. 

"Hang on a sec." Something heavy scrapes the floor again and then the door opens wide, Jackson's lean silhouette filling it completely.

I fight hard not to recoil. "I need to go," I whisper.

He regards me for a moment. "Okay. Go."

I glance behind me. She's sleeping peacefully. I swallow hard. It feels as if every time I see her it could be the last time. The air in the outer room is colder than in my bedroom and I shiver as I walk hastily across the chilly floor. I try to close the bathroom door behind me, but his arm sneaks in and stops it.

"I'm not peeing with you watching," I snarl.

His eyes gleam in the dark. "And what would you do to stop me?"

Every ounce of fight leaves me and I slump back against the wall. He's towering over me in the tiny bathroom but I can't even lift my arms to defend myself.

"Jeez. Relax, Leese. I just need to make sure there aren't any sharp objects in here." He starts rummaging through the cabinet and when he's found a pair of scissors he takes a step back and crosses his arms over his still naked chest. "I take it you won't be trying to leave through there." He nods at the window. "I'm not gonna check on you, but I WILL take my daughter if I find that you've left." His voice is quiet and soft, but the threat is as hard as the sharpened metal in one of his knives.

I can't help the tear that rolls down my cheek. "I just need to pee," I whisper.

When his hand comes up and wipes the wetness off my cheek, I close my eyes and steel myself not to pull back. It's not like I have anywhere to go with my back against the hard paneling. His fingers are warm against my cold skin, and unexpectedly soft.  _ What is it you want? _ I think I already know. I think I know what I must do. I swallow audibly and wait.

I don't look again until I hear the sound of the door closing.

I'll just need some time alone first.

 

**In Darkness**

She looks surprisingly relaxed, peaceful even, when I open the door to her bedroom after having shoved the couch to the side. Looking closer at her appearance, though, I see that her sluggish moves are zombie-like and that her eyes are sad with dark circles under them.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Her voice is thick with tears.

Well of course.

She immediately thinks the worst of me and I can't help teasing her. I don't need to be Dr. Phil to tell that she doesn't appreciate it. Well fuck it then. So much for trying to lighten the mood a little. I wait on the couch, leaning my forearms on my thighs. My shoulder aches from the strain. It's quiet and still inside. Outside the snowstorm rages on without any end in sight. The cabin seems to be well built, though. It doesn't even rattle.

She takes her time. There are long silent pauses between the sounds of water flushing. Still I don't hesitate even a moment. She's in there. She won't be risking her daughter's well-being. OUR daughter's. Finally, I hear the tell-tale squeak of the hinges and the soft whispers of her naked feet against the carpeted floor. I glance at her. I don't want to frighten her, but I don't know how not to. I notice she has a limp.

Like me.

She looks dead tired.

Like me.

She walks all the way until she's standing right before me. The room is dusky, only lit by the little light that shines through the kitchen doorway, but I still see the pained gleam in her eyes. I'm surprised when she crouches before me, her gaze searching. I don't know for what. Something I'm sure I can't give her anyway.

"If I give myself to you… if I let you have… this-" She swallows hard and gestures to her chest. "Is that what you want? Will you leave us alone then?"

My heart makes a leap that feels totally unhealthy. Up my throat and then hitting my stomach like a rock.  _ Fuck, Leese… _ Like I predicted. What I can't give her anyway. I don't know if that should surprise me, or not, but I realize I'm not the tiniest bit interested in her whoring herself out. That's not what I've been looking for.

"Leese-" My voice doesn't quite carry the words. "Don't offer your body to me. That's just fucking sick."

"But…" Her eyes fill with tears and her chin trembles. "What do you want, then? How can I-" She gets up and takes a step back. "What do you want to leave us alone? Money?" She doesn't scream, but her whisper is terse and her posture stiff.

"Go back to sleep, Leese," I say, tired to the bone.

"I- I can't… Not with you in the house."

I regard her.  _ Right. But that's not happening, honey.  _ I shrug. "So stay awake."

Her shoulders slump and before I know what's happening, she bursts into tears. Her shoulders shake from her silent crying as she turns her back to me and starts towards the bedroom. I feel like I should say something to make it better, but what she wants I can't offer. In fact, I'm not sure I could get away even if I wanted to leave. I believe the snow is several feet deep now and it keeps snowing. Charming place she has chosen to settle in.

In the doorway she turns and looks at me. "What did you do to Ray?"

I flinch. And to think I was so relieved she hadn't screamed and yelled about it.  _ Fuck! _ "You don't need to know that."

"I want to know."

"Trust me, Lisa, you don't."

She takes a couple of steps towards me, clenching and unclenching her hands, her eyes dark and fiery. "I need to know, Jackson. I need it, and I owe him that. No one else will ever know, will they? I'm responsible… it’s my fault he came here and I think I have a right to know."

"It’s not… you, your respons-” I stutter. Then I compose myself and fall back into what I know better. Callousness. “It was beyond your control,” I say with more force. “There was nothing you could've done. Give yourself some slack."

"What did you do to him?"

"I killed him, Leese." My voice is edgy. I'm getting increasingly irritated. People don't ask these things. I don't talk about it unless it's to scare someone as part of a job.

"How did you kill him?"

"What do you think?" I glare at her darkly. A look I know ought to scare her into keeping her mouth shut.

She licks her lips nervously and is silent for a few moments. But then she just can’t let it go. "With… your knife."

"You're a criminal mastermind," I sneer.

She doesn't snap back at me as I thought she would. "How?" she asks softly.

I swallow.  _ What the fuck? _ "You don't wanna know. Period."

"I TOLD you I want to!" she snarls.

NOW she snaps. She's hugging the door frame, leaning against it for support. For the comfort she isn't getting anywhere else.

I glare at her.  _ FINE! _ "I cut his throat, Leese. From ear to ear. Satisfied?" I grit my teeth after it's been said. For some fucking reason this doesn't feel comfortable at all. I don't care. I shouldn't care. I'm gonna have to shut her up soon.

Her face is a white mask of despair. "Did he suffer? Was he scared?"

_ Are you out of your fucking mind? _ "Of course he was scared," I growl.

"Does it… does it hurt? To have your throat cut?"

"How the hell should I know? Mine’s still intact as you can see!" I rise and take a step towards her, raising my chin, while looking down at her. I don't care how she feels or why she thinks she needs to know, she has got to stop asking these fucking questions!

She shrinks away from me, inhaling and exhaling erratically. "Why did you have to kill him?" she cries. “He was nice. Harmless. He never hurt anybody!” Her eyes are dark as bottomless wells and her lips are nothing but a thin white line. 

I cover the distance between us in one, long, furious stride, ready to shake her, slap her, somehow force her back into submission.

With a loud sob, she turns on her heel and slams the door closed in my face. I stop and glare at the door, my fists clenched as if for a fight.

_ I fucking told you, you didn't wanna know. _


	12. Night Fright

Why did I pursue that? Why did I want to know? Now I keep seeing Ray's kind, round face before me, his eyes wide with fear as Jackson cuts…  _ God! _ …his throat and the blood, and… and…  _ Oh, God!  _ I wonder how it felt. What it would be like. I keep thinking about it, over and over until I realize that I'm obsessing about it. Death. I could have been dead, so many times by now. By his hands. I still can't sleep. Instead I cry. How can there be so many tears? Where do they all come from?

I'm awake when the scream pierces the room. She isn't awake, really, she's just dreaming. I pick her up and tuck her in next to me. Her squirming little body stills almost immediately. I jerk when the couch is moved again outside the door and the door flies wide open the moment after.

"What the fuck's going on?" he pants. "What are you doing?"

I frown and stare at the black silhouette in the doorway. "Nothing's going on," I snarl. "Go away." I pull Cece a little closer and make sure the blanket covers both of us up to our noses.

"Why did she scream?" The room is dark, but I still see the suspicious look on his face. As he takes a step inside the room my heart rate picks up a notch.

"She always does that. Nothing happened. She's sleeping." My voice is raw and my throat dry, barely carrying the words I whisper in the dark.

"Why does she do that? You mean she just screams… for no reason?"

I roll my eyes. "Jackson… She's a baby. They do that. Now get the hell out of my room." Just as I say that, I realize that I feel a little safer than before. I've done everything. I've hurt him - badly - I'm still alive. I even offered myself to him - my body, not my soul - I actually convinced myself, alone in the bathroom, that I could go through with it, that it was doable and that I meant nothing just as long as I could save Cece. And then he didn't want me. To my relief, but at the same time something snapped inside me as he looked at me with utter contempt, telling me that I'm a whore.

_ I'M NOT! I AM _ ...  _ I'mnotI'mnot…. _

So I punished myself by asking about Ray. Everything. Every painful detail. And I pushed Jackson the farthest I could.

And he hasn't killed me. 

Yet.

I still can't figure out what he wants, but I don't feel an imminent threat to our lives any more. I hug Cece tighter, taking comfort in her slowly rising and sinking chest.

He glares at me, then his gaze wanders the room, as if searching for something suspicious-looking. Finding nothing of interest, he closes the door again and shoves the couch into place. I sigh with relief.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll think of something.

 

**Catch 22**

Last evening has taken its toll. I hurt everywhere, even though it helped that I found some Advil in Leese's medicine chest. I hold on to them as if my life depends on it. Between my wounded knee and the pounding ache in my shoulder it certainly feels that way.

My brain is working overtime, processing the last day - and night. More has happened in only a few hours than it normally does in a year. Things that mean something, that is. I suddenly have a beautiful little daughter. Well… I knew she existed… but I didn't KNOW. She's fantastic. I would very much like to get to know the little kid. I want to protect her… and I think I can teach her a thing or two. Things she needs to know in order to survive. Things I'm sure her mother can't possibly know. Wouldn't want to know… no matter how tough she plays.

I want Cecilia safe, and happy. And I want to be around making sure she is. But I have a strong feeling Lisa won't consider herself safe - or happy - with me around. It's an impossible equation and I don't have a solution. I usually know perfectly well what I'm doing and having no sense of direction makes my head spin. It's complicated.

When the fuck did my life get complicated?

But I know when. I know exactly when.

' _ The name's Reisert, Lisa. You'll tag her and figure out how to make her compliant. Do what it is you do best, Rippner. We'll contact you when it's time.' _

I keep turning and twisting under the blanket, the couch uncomfortable and too short. Lisa Reisert is sleeping a mere few feet from me, and that fact alone nags at my conscience, making me relive all of our previous encounters over and over again. All of them. Over and over. It isn't pleasant. All the things I've refused to think of for so long finally catch up with me. The flight. The chase. When I tried to kill her in her dad's house. When I tried to kill her in her apartment.

When I raped her.

When I raped her.

When I raped her.

When I lost everything. No wonder I can't sleep.

While she is tucked away safely behind the bedroom door, I take the opportunity to boil some eggs and serve myself a few slices off of a ham I find in her fridge. I also wash my ruined shirt that will never look the same again, but it will have to do until we get back to civilization.

We.

I.

I don't know.

I can't fucking sleep.

She offered herself to me. As if she's nothing but a piece of meat. I don't get her. I thought she didn't want to touch me. And still I couldn't help a twitch of want, a voice at the back of my mind urging me to take the opportunity. I twist and turn and end up entangled in the blanket. I feel filthy.

Sleep has almost, almost claimed my tired body when an agonizing scream pierces the night, loud enough to drown out the whining and groaning from the storm outside.  _ What the FUCK!  _ I'm up and shoving the couch to the side in a fraction of a second. She's up to something. I feel it.  _ How the fuck can she get out of the house from in there _ ?

An angry blush creeps over my cheeks as I forcefully push the couch back into place after yet another bad encounter.  _ 'Babies do that.' _ Right. My shoulder aches and I tremble from exhaustion as I fall back onto my temporary bed. I feel stupid. I don't like feeling stupid. Stupid like the old fag. Ray. I groan out loud when I think of the giant body I have to dispose of. Why the FUCK did I do that? Why did he have to come stumbling in my direction?

Ray. His frightened round face haunts me and I keep coming back to Lisa's questions about him.

' _ Did it hurt?' _

 

**We'll Talk Later**

There's a knock on our door, I'm back in Miami for some reason, Dad's alive but I have Cece too. When I open the door there's a crying, tormented Jackson outside. I try to shut it again, but he stops me and begs me not to shut him out. Cecilia comes running, she's little still, but she can speak and she calls him daddy. When I turn around I see my father with a gun in his hand. I turn back to Jackson and he has a smoking hole in his chest. Sorry, he whispers before he falls. 

And Cece screams. For her father. For what I can't give her.

She wakes with her normal chatter. I can barely lift my head from the pillow. I remember dreaming, so I must have finally slept a little. I think I dreamt of HIM.

"Mama, baba, 'fut."

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?" She nods.

Stumbling out of bed, I realize I've slept in jeans, T-shirt, sweater, socks… all of it, and I feel sticky and dirty. My teeth haven't been brushed since yesterday morning and I have an intense pain in my stomach. From hunger I figure even though I can’t sort one pain from the other as my whole body protest when I move.

There are no windows, but I hear the wind, howling outside our little house. Will it ever end?

Any of it?

I knock on the door to our prison. There's a shuffle outside, the moving of the couch, and then HE suddenly stands in my doorway. His eyes void of light, his cheeks hollow. Like in the dream, I realize with a shudder.

"Are you still here?" I sneer.

He grins tiredly. "All these things I don't know about you, sweetheart. Like your morning mood, for instance." His voice is dry, lacking energy.

For a moment he appears so normal, and so… so tender, that I have to look away. I don't want to see. "I'm not your 'sweetheart'," I hiss. "And put something on, for Christ's sake!" He's still naked from the waist up, but has wrapped himself in a blanket. The main room IS cold. I need to get a fire started. It should have been done yesterday, but I was a little preoccupied.

"My shirt's still wet. Well, hello there." His tone changes and his features brighten. The difference is like night and day.

I glance down and find that Cece has taken an interest in the man before me and is peeking out between my legs, smiling, waving, and flirting with him. It stings somewhere deep inside and I snatch her from the floor, cradling her to my chest, stopping the little game between them. She's too little. In her innocence she still can't judge who's good or who's bad. I have a lot I need to teach her. "Can you get out of my way? I need to make her some breakfast."

He makes a face. "Sure. Let me just have a look in there first." He glances at the kitchen entrance.

I can't believe what he's implying. "How do you expect me to cut the bread without a knife?" I snarl.

"Guess I'll have to do it then." He shrugs and turns away from me.

"What? With the same one you used on Ray?" I snap angrily, wanting to slam something hard onto his head for his  _ damn _ cockiness.

He stops and turns back towards me, his eyes cold. "Don't, Leese. Just… don’t." He glances at Cece, and then back at me. 

I glare at his back as he leaves for the kitchen. 

I let her play on the floor as I quickly go to the bathroom. It's still dark outside. It'll take a couple of hours yet before the sun comes up behind all those clouds. I wonder how much sunlight will reach us at all. I use the toilet and then splash ice cold water on my face. Grabbing a diaper I try to remember when the last time I changed her even was. Probably before her afternoon nap yesterday. She hasn't complained but I feel like a horrible mother. Well, a horrible mother who's been under some pressure. While he rummages through the kitchen I clean her and give her some new clothes. I keep glancing at my front door. Could we make it? But the storm rages on without any signs of calming down and I doubt I would have a chance at collecting our outdoor clothes without him noticing. I stick to preparing my daughter for the day, then I gather a couple of old newspapers and stuff them together with some dry logs in the fireplace.

"Can I help you with something?"

I'm just about to light the match and my balance isn't the best after the ankle injury from yesterday, so I topple over from my crouching position and sit down too hard on my back with a small squeal.

"Yeah," I mutter as I get up and strike the match, my heart pounding fiercely from his closeness. "You know the front door?"

"Yeah," he answers hesitantly.

"Open it, get out, close it, and don't come back." I refuse to look at him, and he doesn't say a word.

"Angwy, momma."

_ Yes, mommy's angry!  _ "Mommy's gonna make some breakfast as soon as I've lit the fire, honey." I watch the flames engulf the paper, curl it in orange and black serpentines, crumble the black letters and incinerate the news of the world. When I rise and turn, he's still standing right behind me, his arms crossed over his naked chest. My instincts tell me to back away, but I can't because of the fireplace. Cece's on my right and the armchair is on the left, trapping me way too close to comfort.

"We need to talk," he says. He shakes the bangs out of his face, his eyes flash the coldest of blue and he looks frighteningly calm.

_ Like right before he attacked Ray!  _ "I don't want to talk with you. We have nothing to say to each other and if you need to talk I think you should go see a shrink." I cross my arms and stare defiantly back at him. 

A muscle at the side of his cheek clenches and unclenches repeatedly.

I swallow hard when his eyes flare up dangerously. I think I preferred the coldness. I glance down at Cece, then back at him. He follows my gaze and then he backs up a step, his lips tightly pressed together.

"Later," he rasps and cocks his head, regarding me before he backs away and leaves for the bathroom.

_ Oh, God.  _ We HAVE to get out of here. I can't help the tears that roll down my cheeks when I fall into a trembling heap next to my girl. "Come on, baby, let's make you some breakfast."

 

**Life And The Pain Of It**

It's half past seven in the morning when the soft knock from the other side of the door startles me. If my bloodied wrist watch still tells the correct time, that is. It feels as if it's several hours earlier. I have a severe headache and can barely lift my head from the pillow.

Lisa is snarkier than ever and I'm not in the mood for games, but I soften as Cecilia flirts with me, a little less shy than yesterday. I grin inwardly at Lisa's anger and obvious jealousy when she spots her daughter smiling at the big bad wolf.

After yet another tiresome banter I secure her kitchen, adding everything sharp and heavy I can find to my increasing pile of items I can't allow near Lisa. I wonder where the hell I should put everything. I could tie her up again and solve the problem temporarily, but I have a feeling we won't ever come to speaking terms again if I do.

The day, with its few pale hours of daylight, passes agonizingly slowly. Lisa occupies herself with Cecilia, keeping her as a shield between us. I can virtually smell her fear every time I happen to catch her alone.

They eat. Breakfast, lunch.

I eat.

Breakfast.

Lunch.

Lisa plays with our daughter, reads to her, then plays some more. I pretend to read but can't keep my eyes off them. They're beautiful. They're life. A streak of pain ripples through my chest. I've never had it. Why is that? What makes me want it now? SHE certainly wouldn't see it that way, but I wonder if it isn't what I did to her two years ago that changed me. I've never felt such regret before. It has consumed me. It drove me deeper into my own darkness than ever before, made me reckless, ruthless. It made me feared and hated among the people I work with. It made me despise them all, my life and everything in it.

I look up when Lisa rises heavily, steering her tired steps towards the kitchen. Limping, really. It's late afternoon and darkness fell completely an hour ago. If I close my eyes I think I'll fall asleep. I force myself to get up instead. I need to stay alert.

"Leese!"

"Hm?" she answers drowsily, her hand clutching Cecilia's. I take a closer look at my captives. The little one looks perfectly fine, but Lisa looks terrible, and she reeks.

"Go take a bath, Leese. Take her with you, let me do the cooking."

I see the doubt even before she opens her mouth.

"Yes, I cook. Now get the hell into some hot water. You stink."

The brief glint of gratefulness on her face is immediately replaced by a sneer, but she turns towards the bathroom.

"Ah, ah," I say before she closes the door behind her. "Take off her clothes before you go inside and leave them outside. And your socks."

Her hand clutches the door knob until her knuckles whiten. She most certainly doesn't like me ordering her around. "Why?" she asks with poorly controlled anger.

"I don't think you'll be so prone to make an attempt through the window if you don't have enough clothes."

Her mouth opens and closes several times before she speaks. "Have you taken a look outside lately," she hisses.

I feel the rage rise, almost uncontrollably, inside me. Like _ then _ … like two years ago. Oh, she's so fucking good at getting to me. And I'm so fucking good at letting her. "I thought you'd be grateful for a bath and that I don't make you take YOUR clothes off in front of me… but all you do is whine, whine, whine." I clench my teeth, fighting to subdue the pent-up anger from all our previous drabbles. "Just go back to your bedroom then, but leave HER with me so I can get her some dinner." My finger trembles as I point at my daughter.

Lisa stands as if frozen in the same position. "No… sorry," she whispers. She pulls off first one sock and then the other. "Please, let me take a bath… with Cece. Please." She has no fight left in her. Her huge dark eyes plead with me and her arms hang loosely by her sides, socks still clutched in her hands. 

I look at her little feet. Pale, thin. How far could she walk on those? Far enough probably. As far as she'd need to. She appears so fragile, so easily breakable, but she's made of solid rock. She fooled me once. Hm. No, twice. It won't happen again.

I feel just like she looks. I'm just as tired and my anger drains away almost as rapidly as it rose. "I'm so fed up with you fighting me every step of the way." My voice is hoarse and I clear my throat before I continue. "I know you don't like me being here. I know a lot of things you don't like… More than you can imagine. But why the fuck can't you just accept a friendly gesture? Even if it comes from me?"

She nods unhappily. "Sorry," she says again. "Can I?"

I dismiss her with a tired wave of the hand. "Leave her pants and your socks outside and then take the time you need."

"Thank you."

I'm already on my way to the kitchen and I can't believe my ears. ' _ Thank you?’ _


	13. Unexpected Pleasantries

I lock the door with a shaky sigh of relief. It's the first time I get some time alone in way too many hours. I fall into a trembling heap on the soft white carpet, hugging Cecilia, groaning when I accidentally twist my ankle into a position it doesn't like. She squirms out of my grip and tries to reach the door handle while talking and talking, words only she knows the meaning of. And I don't have the energy to listen.

My eyes are dry and heated. I have cried too much. It's useless. Now I need to think about how to get us out of here. I need to make some real plans. He keeps threatening me with wanting to 'talk'. I really can't think of anything he could talk about that would mean anything to me. And there's one thing, maybe two, of all the things that he's done to me… Something that burns in the vacuum between us whenever we get close, creating an electric field that makes the hair at the back of my head stand with unease.

And I am not talking about that. It would be like reliving it. 

In front of HIM!

Cece is fresh, I bathed her earlier today. I give her the yellow duck, the soap crayons, and her collection of colorful rubber fishes. She plays on the carpet, humming some song she's inventing as she sings it, while I run a steaming hot bath for me. Undressing slowly, discarding one dirty, smelly piece of clothing after another I feel like I literally peel off the last day and night. I shudder when I see the blood that has dried on both my sleeves and how bruised my wrists are. I realize that it's HIS blood, from when he tied me up with the bloodied sheet and throw the shirt away with a shudder.

Cece looks up as she hears my whimper and I force a smile towards her.  _ When did I start lying to my daughter? _

I turn the knobs and the water stops running.  _ He is twisting my mind. That's what it is. _

The hot steam has already made the walls and the window dripping wet. I put first one foot and then the other into the tub. I hope it's hot enough. And GOD is it hot! I push myself deeper, gasping, trembling, panting like when I gave birth to my daughter; short, labored breaths, my cheeks already blushing from the lava-like heat.  _ Did I put ANY cold water in the mix at all?  _ Finally, I'm completely covered and my heart races from the effort. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes. I almost jerk when I realize I haven't thought of Jackson for several minutes. I open one eye and glance at the door.

It's closed.

He's out there.

Cecilia is an angel. She's playing quietly, painting the duck - and the white carpet - in all the colors of the rainbow.

I close my eyes again and let the warmth soothe my aching limbs, soften stiff muscles, and penetrate deep into my core with its peaceful effects on my being. My hands slip slowly along my slippery skin, barely touching nipples stiff from the pain of the heat, sliding past my belly that's more of an indentation than the soft roundness it used to be when I carried Cece. I stop when my hands cover the patch of hair, then I let my arms float weightlessly in the water. 

My mind swirls. With tiredness. From the heat. From HIS presence. Is it possible to overcome the assault that is a rape? Is it possible to forgive? I almost miss it. Since he came here I've been too preoccupied and I haven't had the time, or the energy for self-pity. And I haven't been able to recall the rape even once. Not once. It's like healing a burn-wound through fire.

Which should be impossible.

I sit up on the edge of the tub and lather myself thoroughly. My wrists are not only discolored but actually chafed from when I fought to get loose. I had no idea I struggled that hard. My left ankle is swollen, there are black and blue marks on the side of my rib cage and on my belly. I touch my neck. At least it's unharmed.

This time.

For now.

I look at Cece and tears well up in my eyes. Whatever it is he wants it can't be good. For him maybe, but not for us. My gaze wanders to the bathroom cabinet, remembering last night when he took the scissors. I wonder if he has taken more of what's in there. When she was a baby she had colic and screamed and screamed and stayed up all night, so finally, when we still lived in Chicago, I got a prescription for her to make her sleep better along with something for the stomach. If I can make sure that she doesn't wake… no matter what… and maybe, maybe if I can make him sleep too… or at least make him drowsy… A plan is slowly forming in my mind and my heart begins to beat harder and faster. It could work.

I rinse myself clean from the slick soap and groan when I realize I never brought clean clothes with me to the bathroom. I wipe myself dry, but I sweat profusely and the work is soon undone. 

Cece looks thoughtfully at me."Moma bath?"

I laugh. It's liberating. "Mommy's finished the bath. I'm just really sweaty."

She frowns and tries to understand. I smile and pat her head, stroking the silky dark hair. She looks so much like him.

I don't want to put on my old grisly clothes, my whole being protests at the thought, but I surely don't want to walk through the main room with only a towel covering my naked body. I'm at a loss as to what to do, but finally I decide for the towel alternative, remembering that he didn't want me last night even when I offered myself. I unlock the door carefully and open it just a crack, peeking out into the larger room. My heart pounds wildly. I don't see anyone. When I push the door open a little more, it hits something soft. I peek around the door to see what it is and my eyes widen when I find a pile of clothes, neatly folded, large and small, pants, sweaters, panties, socks. Still not seeing anyone but unable to not smell the most fantastic scents of cooking emanating from the kitchen, I snatch the pile from the floor and bring it with me into the bathroom, hastily locking the door again. I shake my head and try to figure out the catch. What does he want from me? My skin has started to develop goosebumps and I quickly separate Cece's clothes from mine, putting on jeans, a T-shirt, and a hooded sweater.

I'll think later.

 

**Dinner Time**

I can't help reveling in the fresh scents that stem from the bathroom. Steaming, humid air, enriched with soap. It smells flowery, clean, innocent. It smells of normalcy. I like it. I sincerely hope she enjoys her bath and that she’s in a better mood when she comes back out. I'm not used to being treated like something the cat dragged in, and especially not used to trying to show some fuckin' patience meanwhile. I've been nothing but understanding and friendly, and still, STILL, she keeps up all the yelling and the hate-show.

A little part of me can't help picturing what she looks like right now; her pale skin naked in the tub, hot and soft…

_ Jackson! _

She'll never let me near her again… but I could… I could make her come to me. It would be so easy. She'd do anything to protect her - our - daughter… I wouldn't have to be rough at all. There'd be no bruising… and after she would never be able to tell whether she was in on it on some level… or not. I know I could make her enjoy it more than she'd like. My loins ache at the thought and I clench my hands into tight fists until there are a set of four crescent-shaped indentations in each of my palms. And my left shoulder pounds.

I just wish…  _ Fuck! _

Instead I bury myself in the art of cooking something great out of nothing. It's unexpectedly difficult. She lives on preserves, frozen meat and bread, and the only things that are fresh are a couple of apples and a pineapple. I cook rice and make a sweet and sour sauce to go with a piece of chicken that I chop and fry with slices of pineapple.

I hope my daughter likes my cooking and I can't help smiling at the thought that she'll eat it and at how it'll annoy Leese.

When she suddenly stands in the door, she takes my breath away with her raw innocence and unclaimed beauty. Her face is clean, her hair still wet and combed back. A pair of thin jeans-clad legs sticks out beneath a much too large gray hooded sweater. A pang of jealousy surges through my chest, wondering who that sweater once belonged to. She can't possibly have bought it for herself. Some old lover? Someone she still cherishes the memory of?

"Well, look who honors me with her presence. Bath feel alright?"

She pulls shyly at the hem of the sweater. "It was… ahm… it felt great. Tha- nks for letting me." She stutters slightly and I find myself thinking it's cute.  _ Cute? _

"Whose's the giant hoodie? Either you got it for yourself and grossly overestimated you own size, or you're being a tad over sentimental and keep the clothes of your old boyfriends.” I say it casually, as if I couldn't care less, but my heart pounds a little too insistently in my chest.

The cuteness disappears in an instant. Her face, which has been solemn, proud and calm, changes into a vivid sneer. "It was my dad's, Jack."

I lift an eyebrow and turn back to the pots not to show her the blush that creeps over my cheeks.  _ You're a fuckin' stupid asshole! What did it matter anyway?  _ "Gimme a hand with the plates and we're set to eat in a sec."

I turn back to face her, three plates in my hands. She is leaning against the door frame and seems to be studying me.

"See something you like?" I tease.

I can't help the little smile at the corner of my mouth when she hisses and pulls the plates from my hands, disappearing out into the main room.

Cecilia eats happily, sticky rice ending up on every surface within three feet of her, brownish-red sauce covering her cheeks and even a spot on her nose. I'm very pleased. Lisa sulks and refuses to eat. I try to ignore it, but it's becoming increasingly annoying.

"Lisa. Eat. It's not poison and you look like a stick."  _ Or more like a splinter out of a stick! _

She shrugs and chases a grain of rice across her plate with her fork.

"The amazon champion who beat the shit out of me once… look at you now, you can barely carry yourself."

"What do you care?" she sneers.

"You're the mother of my child and you're gonna fuckin' do your job, Leese!"

Her head perks up and I see a flash of interest in her eyes. "That's why you're here?"

I regard her.  _ No. _ "Eat. Or I'm gonna force it down your throat."

"Oh, how sweet," she scowls. "You care."

I glare back at her until she shrugs and starts to eat.

 

**Of Mice And Men**

I keep pissing him off. I realize I'm going to have to act softer, nicer, to try to set my plan in motion. My whole body tingles from our previous banter. I was afraid to tick him off too much, but at the same time it was thrilling in an unexpected way.

The food's good. Too good. I haven't eaten anything this delicious in years. And HE cooked!

All it does is turn my anger into fury.  _ Whatever it is, Jackson, no matter the reason you're here, you're going to lose.  _ The thought gives me strength. And the food IS good.  _ I hate you!  _ Ironically enough, he doesn't know how much he's helped me to revitalize and regain some amount of strength. Not starving any more, clean, warm, and with fresh clothes on, I can think again. I would have needed a couple of Advil, but I couldn’t find any. My ankle still pulse with pain. 

I have a plan. It's risky. But it can work. It just has to get a little less hostile outside, or... well, even if it doesn't I'll have to make my move anyway. It'll just be so much harder. And I have to make him trust me. Just a little is enough. Just enough not to lock us in my bedroom again. I'll have to perform better than ever in the deception that has been my life for so long.

"Ahm… thanks. It tasted… it was really good." I blush and look down at my plate but I saw a brief glint of surprise in his eyes. The embarrassment is for real, but it suits me fine to show it.

Cecilia has slithered out of her chair already and is running around, giddy, happy, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room, bouncing on the couch, crawling under the table, off into the bedroom for unknown adventures and then back out again.  _ Good, drain that energy. It'll make you sleep better. _

"Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it." He wipes his mouth and regards me. I feel uneasy under his scrutiny and itch to get up.

I collect the three plates and stand. "I’ll do the dishes, Jackson. It's the least I can do." I give him my best look of innocence, almost batting my eyelashes, fighting not to overdo it. 

His eyes narrow as he regards me and he waits a tad too long to answer. I feel my courage sink like a stone. He's too good. He sees right through me and I'll never make it. "Sure." He leans back and smiles. I almost drop the porcelain in surprise. He gets up and walks over to my armchair, pushing it across the floor until it sits opposite the kitchen entrance, giving him full view over me and what I'm doing.

_ Damn you for knowing me too well.  _

Picking up a book, he flips it open to the first page and pretends to start reading, his eyes not moving along the lines of text. 

I feel his gaze on me the whole time as I clean the table and the kitchen. I've never lived with any other man than my own dad before, and he sure knew how to make a mess in the kitchen. This one's no different.  _ You don't LIVE with him, Lisa! _ I'm surprised at the thought. It's as if he's already settled in. In my house as well as in my mind.  _ He's brainwashing you!  _ A cold trickle makes its way down my spine. We HAVE to get out of here before it's too late.

My voice is the perfect blend of sugar and sound hesitation when I walk up to him after I'm done tucking away the remains. "Jackson."

He looks up from his book. 'Of Mice And Men.' Good choice at least. For some reason I’d never have pictured him reading crap litterature anyway. "M-hm?"

"What do we do now? What do you want from me?"

If he's surprised he hides it well. He looks over at a still hyperactive Cece. "I think we'll have all the time we need once she's in bed, don't you? Let's just have your 'normal evening'. I'm really getting into this." He waves with the book and smirks.

_ Asshole!  _ "You said- ahm… said you wanted to talk?"

"Well… you're not going anywhere, are you?"

A stab of fear shoots through my stomach.  _ He knows!  _ I have to force a smile. "Doesn't seem like it."

I smile at him whenever I get a chance, but funny enough, not that I ‘want’ to get close, he seems to distance himself. He keeps his nose deeply buried in the book the whole evening, but it suits me just fine. Doing rounds randomly, pretending to clean up the place, I collect the sleeping potion, all the clothes I can find, and shoes for Cece and myself and gather all the items under my bed. My mouth is dry as sandpaper and my heart pounds. I KNOW he'll find out that I'm up to something. He's not stupid. I know I won't make it. But I'm not worthy of being her mother if I don't try.

Pouring a triple dose in her warm milk, I pray to god, if he's up there, if he ever listens to me, that I'm not hurting my child. I read to her about the hedgehog and the rabbit, silent tears trickle down my cheeks as I tell the simple story that I know so well. She falls asleep like she should with me right next to her. I'm so tired. Even though I'm sitting up I fall asleep over and over and jerk awake every time, my heart pounding wildly, afraid that I'll have missed the window of opportunity. Leaning over the edge of the bed, I reach for the pile of clothes. Yes, they're still there. Time to act. Time for deception.

He has moved to the couch and for a moment I think he's fallen asleep. I hold my breath as I watch him. His chest rises and falls in a slow steady rhythm, but when I tiptoe closer he lifts his head from the pillow and looks at me, his eyelids heavy, his gaze lazy through a curtain of dark hair, sending a jolt through my belly. He looks too good. Even knowing what he is, what he does, I can still see it.

I force myself to walk up to him and settle on the edge of the couch even though my whole being screams at me to run in the other direction. He makes room for me and grimaces as he moves.

"Are you in pain?" I ask quietly.

"It's my shoulder," he grunts and flexes his elbow before he settles into a new position. I tingle all over from being so close to him, but I tell myself that I have to.

"I'm sorry, Jackson." _ I'm sorry I missed your throat. _

"I'm sure you are. I'm sure you're sorry you didn't stab me better."  _ Oh… _ He's not going to be easy to trick.

“Maybe…” I smile. Then I turn serious and almost, almost mean what comes out of my mouth next. "No… I… I didn't know that you… I thought you came to hurt us. I did what I thought I had to do."

"How do you know now that I'm not here to hurt you?" He raises his eyebrows and shake some hair off of his face. 

I swallow audibly, my heart jolting. "You've told me…" My voice is weak, a mere squeak.

He grins. "Leese, fuck! Will you ever relax?"

"I'm sorry… I-"

"And will you stop saying that?"

"Sorry."

He gives me a stern look and I bite my lip hard to stop myself from saying it again. Why am I apologizing to HIM? It should be the other way around.

"You're wondering why I'm here. Why I've chased you all over the continent."

"Well… yes. I thought you'd gotten your revenge when you…"

It's his turn to bite his lip. We're both silent for a moment. "I didn't know you were going to get pregnant."

"I didn't plan to." My cheeks have started to burn. "And what does that have to do with anything?"

"It changes everything."

I have to hold on to something so as to not hit him. I intend to cajole him into believing that I trust him and that I don't mind him being here. It would have the opposite effect if I cracked his nose. "What does it change? It doesn't change a thing," I say, a little too edgy.

"We're forever linked through her, Leese. No matter what you think of it. No matter if you like it."

I swallow hard. I've felt it too. I just don't want to admit that it could be true. I rise. A little too sudden. "I'm gonna make some tea. You want some?"

"I'd prefer coffee."

I nod. My heart pounds. That's even better. "Sugar?"

"Yes, please."

_ God, thanks! _ The medicine has no taste but it is sweet, a liquid for children. It'll go well with a couple of added spoonfuls of sugar.


	14. Through The Snow

"So… ahm…" I stare at the steaming cup I've placed in front of him. "How do you like the book?"

He flips it around and looks at the cover. "I didn't think it'd be your type of literature. I'd have pegged you as more of a romantic."

_ Maybe I was. Once!  _ "I didn't peg you as someone who read books at all."

He laughs. It's a nice sound. "What? Assassins don't read books? What kind of a guy am I, then?"

"Comics. Dark. Adult."

He laughs again and takes a sip of the steaming black liquid. I have to force myself not to follow the cup with my gaze as he puts it to his lips and drinks.  _ Drinkdrinkdrink!  _ Instead I take a too-large sip of my tea and burn my tongue. Tears well up in my eyes from the pain. 

_ Damn! _

He grimaces. "A bit on the sweet side."

_ Oh, no. _

"But it's alright. Thanks." He takes another sip.

I tremble when I set the teacup down a little too fast.

He studies me in silence, fiddling with the cup, twisting it in his hands. "Are you nervous, Leese?" He frowns. 

There's no use denying that. The best lie is the one closest to the truth. I nod and feel a desperate need to change the subject. "Assassin… that's what you are? That's what you call yourself?"

His lips tighten a little. "It's just semantics." He actually looks uncomfortable.

"What do you do then?"

"Haven't we been through this?" He cocks his head and puts a strand of dark hair behind his right ear.

"Still in the stalking business then?"

He twists his lips into a half-smile. "Isn't it obvious?"

_ Isn't it pathetic?  _ "No, but really. I think I have a right to know what it is that you really do. For her sake if not for anything else…" I nod towards the bedroom door, hoping desperately she's alright in there.

He regards me for a long time. Too long. I take yet another sip of my tea and he drinks several gulps of coffee, his gaze never leaving mine. "Hm. Maybe you do… after… You really interested? But I’m gonna have to kill you after."

The chair scrapes against the floor when I jerk back. 

He looks uncharacteristically remorseful. “I’m sorry. That was a… a joke in really bad taste!” He swallows audibly. “I actually didn’t mean that at all.” He stretch out a hand towards me, but then seems to change his mind and let it drop to the table instead.

I nod. I believe him. My heart has begun to pound harder again. Maybe I am interested for real? In a way I'm perversely curious. But at the same time I'm afraid of what I'll hear. I nod again, afraid my voice won't carry.

"I never talk about what I do. Not with anyone. It kind of lies in the nature of the business… But okay." He nods slowly, thoughtfully. 

"I solve certain problems. You see, there are two kinds of people: those who know what they want and are willing to do anything, and I mean anything, to get it. And then there are the kinds who get in the way. Player A normally stays well clear of player B, hence the need for people like me, who makes things happen, who gives fate a little push in the direction player A wants."

"That's a nice way to put it," I say icily, unable to stop the curl of distaste on my lips. “What you said just there didn’t mean anything, and you know it. I already know much more than that.”  _ So Keefe is just a 'player' in your world, not a human, not someone's father, husband… and Ray! Like some damn game of chess… That's how you have to think to be able to do what you do?  _ But I keep my mouth shut. Better not go there or we'll end up somewhere ugly. 

Again.

"People tend to do anything for money, power, and sometimes sex, Leese," he says softly, as if he's trying to really make me understand, as if I'm a little child and he's talking about entirely different things. "And yes. It IS a nice way of putting it. I didn't think you wanted the graphic version."

I shiver with fearful anticipation. I have to hold on to something; I can't believe I'm sitting in the same room, on the same couch, as a professional killer.  _ 'Problem solver' my ass!  _ "Maybe I do," I whisper. I need to flatter him, but I'm so afraid of what I'll hear. I don't even really read the news anymore because it pains me too much. I just skim through them. 

This man creates the news.

He lifts an eyebrow as he studies me.

"You called yourself a 'manager'… "

"It was true. At the time. I've expanded my range of business since." His voice has the slightest taint of bitterness, just there, but I hear it and I can't help wondering about it.

"Would… ahm…" I swallow hard. "Would you kill anyone for money? I mean… anyone?” I pause and inhale shakily. “Cecilia?" I fight to keep my face straight, but he seems to see right through it. I want to add ‘me?’, but I don’t dare to.

He takes my hand and I flinch, but I force myself to let him keep it. "Don't look so unhappy, Leese. And to answer your question: no. Under no circumstances."

"You scare me. What you do scare me. It’s so far from my world." I swallow hard. “Or it was,” I add, bitterly.

"Yeah… I know…" He regards me for a moment too long and I feel my heart pound increasingly harder under his scrutiny. "I used to think that I'd kill anyone for money… that it didn't matter. But things have changed."

_ Have they? _

"I've seen you… as someone else too… before… nicer…" I hope to remind him of that little hint of humanity that I still believe is buried somewhere deep inside that wicked psyche, praying that if I do, it might help us survive.

"I can be nice. When I need to."

"Just when you 'need' to? Not because you want to?"

"I'm nice now."

"Because you 'need' to?"

"No."

_ Okay… _ I look away. I don't think I can keep up the act much longer. It takes too much effort. Before we go our separate ways tonight there's just one more question I need to know the answer to. I try to swallow the thick, frightened lump in my throat but it refuses to go away. I lift my cup to distract myself with the cup, but my hand tremble so bad that I have to put it down. 

"How many women have you raped?" I whisper. 

I have no idea even which answer would be the least horrifying. Only me? Then it was personal and that is absolutely unforgivably evil. Or many? That would mean he’s a monster on every level possible. No answer would benefit me to hear and I bitterly regret asking. I don’t need to know. I glance at his cup. It's empty. I keep staring at the few drops of liquid that are left and that look like brownish dirt at the bottom of his cup. My cheeks burn. I poured a lot in there. I wonder if he'll die.

He lets go of my hand and I hear him inhale. I don't have to look at him to know that that muscle at the side of his jaw is clenching and unclenching. He inhales again. Exhales. "One," he finally says with a raspy voice. He is silent, regarding me, measuring me, as if waiting for me to burst. 

My eyes fill with tears as I turn to look at him. "Okay," I whisper. "Okay…" 

Nausea rises within me. Part of me already knew that. And still that wasn't what I had hoped for. I want him to be just a monster, from the inside and out.  _ Why did you rape ME?  _ But I can't force the words past my lips. It hurts too much. It's time to let go. It’s time to leave. Inhaling shakily, I stand. 

"I'm gonna brush my teeth, then I think I need to sleep. Could you… can I sleep out here? I get claustrophobic when you lock me up. It's storming and all… I'm not going anywhere."  _ Please. Please, please, please!  _ The sound of my pulse whooshes in my ears as I wait for his reply. 

He shrugs. "I trust you, Leese. I'm sure you won't risk taking Cecilia outdoors. Go ahead and sleep in your bed. S'alright. I won’t barricade your door again."

"Thanks, Jackson." And I truly mean it.

I have a hard time staying awake. In fact, I'm so tired that I believe I mixed up the cups and drank the medicine myself. Cece is breathing steadily and I sit on my bed, swaying, listening to any sounds from the main room while I put on one garment at a time. A sock for her. A shirt for me. A pullover for her - a bit tricky. Jeans for me. She mumbles in her sleep but shows no sign of waking up. I don't know how long I wait. I listen to water flushing. Soft rustling noises from clothes and towels. Creaking sounds from the springs in the couch. More creaking from springs. Discreet rustling from fabric again. Springs. Rustle. Creaks.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

I wait. Breathe. Go through the plan. Wait. Watch the faint, even rising and falling of Cece's chest. My mouth turns desert dry the second I decide that it's time.  _ Oh, GOD. Make it work.  _ But He's been painfully absent in my life the last few years and the only one I can trust is myself. I hope the medicine has had its desired effect.

_ Dad! Please, look out for us tonight. _

I rise on shaky legs and wrap my little daughter in her blanket. Then I open the door just a crack. I listen. Nothing. I open it wider and bring the little well-wrapped packet with me. Stopping for a moment, I stare at the deeply sleeping Jackson on the couch. The light in the room is dim, but I can see his strangely attractive profile clearly.

_ Say goodbye to your daddy, Cecilia.  _

The briefest sting of something akin to regret shoots through my chest. Then I act. I feel for the car keys in my jeans pocket, then I carefully drop first one foot and then the other into my rubber boots. They're all I have left. My thick winter boots are buried deep in the deep layers of snow outside my kitchen window.

I glance one last time at his sleeping form. He looks so innocent, almost boyish. I can't believe he can be so cruel, so… dangerous.

Carefully pulling down the door handle, I then sneak out through the smallest crack possible, cradling Cece tightly to my chest. As I close the door behind me, all the warmth and deceptive safety leaves me in an instant, blown away by the violent gusts of wind that keep coming at us, tearing at our clothes, the snow eating its way into every crevice and orifice. I momentarily lose my breath to the wind and gasp, bending forward, starting on the long slope down to where my car stands.

_ We're OUT!  _ I can barely believe it.

It's dark. The everlasting snowing occludes whatever moonlight there might have been, but the bright white that covers everything still gives the world a ghost-like glow and the trees, the bushes, the stones, the very air, all appear eerily self-illuminated. I struggle across the yard and past the first trees. Past the little bush where I hid not so long ago. It's almost completely gone in the snow. Not until now do I realize how much my left ankle actually hurts. It feels weak and unstable with a burning, throbbing pain that forces me to limp all the way. With Cece in my arms and the snow that reaches my knees, it's an almost impossible task and with quickly weakening muscles I continue on pure will.

The SUV looks like nothing but a large pile of snow and I nearly miss it. I brush off as much as I can manage with one arm and then I feel for the handle, a feeling of hurry haunting my every move.

The lock is frozen and I pull frantically to get it to open with Cece still on my left arm. I can't put her down in the deep snow. It doesn't open and I can't get the leverage I need so finally I stomp furiously on the ground to make a place where she can lie for the few moments I'll need. Making sure the blanket covers her, I then yank furiously at the driver's door, back door, all the way around the car and then back to the driver's door again.  _ OPEN! _

"Open, goddamnit! Open!" I sob.

"LEESE!"

_ Oh, God! NO! _

I hear him roar through the dark woods, and the terror gives me extra strength. With a final yank, I suddenly get the damn door open and lift Cece off the ground, throwing her inside on the passenger's side. There's no time to brush off all the snow. She's still sleeping.

_ Pleasepleaseplease!  _ My heart slams in my throat and I can barely breathe. Trembling, I manage to insert the key into the ignition and twist. Nothing.

_ No!  _ I twist it again. Nothing.  _ NO! _

I slam my door closed and lock it at the last moment. I hear his roar right outside, right next to me.

"LEESE!"

A furious Jackson has plowed through all the snow, following my tracks, poorly dressed and in his impractical shoes. He yanks the door handle and then slams his fists on the window when the door doesn't open. He throws himself at the other doors, and for a moment I panic, having no idea if they are locked or not. I keep trying the key, refusing to believe that my faithful SUV has stopped working, but my heart sinks with each unsuccessful attempt.

"Open the fucking door, Leese!" he shouts.

I shake my head mutely as tears start falling down my cheeks. I don't want to upset Cece by screaming.

"Open the door NOW!" he roars, his voice sharper, more dangerous.

I stare emptily in front of me and just shake my head. No. No way. We can stay in here. We'll be safe from him. He can't reach us, and I won't have to talk to him anymore. Glancing at him again, I give out an involuntary scream. He's picked up a large branch and aims at the window.

I shake my head and mouth a 'no', but he backs up a step and lifts the piece of wood. "Get out of the fucking car!" he roars.

I don't answer.  _ You wouldn't! Think of Cece! _

When he slams it against the side window next to my head I scream again and cover my face. "Stop it! Stop!" I scream.

A milky web of cracks has spread across the surface. But it hasn't broken.  _ Maybe it'll hold?  _ He slams at it again and again, and suddenly it breaks into thousands of little shards that rain all over me, making my pullover glitter, deceptively beautiful. When he grabs me there's nowhere I can go. I slam at his arms, but I'm helpless as he takes hold of my clothes and hauls me out through the opening, throwing me to the ground where the thick snow dampens the fall. Swimming through the cold white wetness, I try to crawl away from the maniac before me, but he grabs me by my shoulders and shakes me furiously. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!" he roars.

I see Ray before me. Stabbed to death in a very similar situation and my panic intensifies into something completely unmanageable. Slamming my fists at his arms, I twist and scream, trying to get out of his grip. His arms and hands and legs and body are everywhere. 

"Fucking HELL! Stop fighting me, Leese! I won’t  hurt you! I'm sorry I did… I just can’t let you..."

He abruptly lets me loose and shoves me to the ground. I use the moment to take a swipe at him. He dodges my arms and grips around both my right arm and my neck with one of his arms, making it almost impossible for me to move. I try to get my left arm loose from under me, but I only end up even more tightly wrapped in his forced embrace. He's so close that his long hair gets in my face.

"Let me GO!" I scream, panting heavily.

He snorts. "No." 

I feel his chest heave as he presses me closer and I almost panic when I can't move. I squirm and snarl at him, trying to get loose. It's useless and finally I still. "You make me sick!" I hiss. And it’s literally true. I’m nauseous, on the verge of throwing up.

"So I've noticed." He loosens his grip a little and lays me on the ground, still immobilizing me, though, by lying partially over me, my wrists in his strong hands. "You really hate me that much?"

His question makes my chest clench and I turn my head away.  _ Why did you rape me?  _ It's as if he reads my thoughts. 

"Leese…" He hesitates. His breath is hot against my cold cheek and it keeps coming in short gasps. "I wish it'd never happened." The wind almost steals the mumbled words from his mouth before I even hear them.

But I do.

The cold snow is beginning to make my back wet and I squirm. But that's not the only thing that is uncomfortable. I don't want his excuses. It's easier when he is inhuman and frightening. I handle that better.

"I wish I lived a normal life," I yell. "I wish I'd never met you!"

“Yeah, I get that,” he says in a very tired voice. “But these are the cards that were given us and we’re just gonna have to work with what we’ve got. And I don't. I'm glad I met you" He whispers the last few words, his voice even quieter than before. Thicker. Sadder.

_ You… what?   _ "I'm… I’m cold," I stutter. And it's true. My teeth have begun to chatter .

In one move, he stands and pulls me to my feet, brushing some of the snow off me. I take a step towards the car and look over to the passenger's side. She sleeps, but she has moved and is now lying on her back, her arms falling to the sides. I have no doubt that all of our screaming has reached through even her drug-induced sleep.

"You know… the car wouldn't have started anyway," he says casually, brushing thick layers of snow off of his jacket.

_ What?  _ "Why not?" I pull the door open and reach for my daughter.

"I ripped out the starter circuit when I first got here. Didn't want you suddenly leaving. Good hunch."

_ Oh… _ I'm so disappointed that my chest aches. I'm too tired and too cold, there's just nothing left, not even anger. My head spins and I still feel like I'm gonna throw up. I stumble as I start up the slope towards the cabin again, back to the little house I thought I'd never see again only ten minutes ago.

"So I did all of this for nothing? I'm never getting away from you."

He doesn't answer.

_ Am I? Am I ever getting away from you?  _ I stumble again. She's heavy and the pain in my ankle radiates up along my whole leg, making me wince with every step.

"I can take her," he says.

"NO!"  _ No way! _

"Come on. You can barely manage."

"No." I look at him. "Besides, you're limping too in case you hadn't noticed."

"Please. Lisa. I'm still stronger than you are."

"No way," I snarl.

He steps up in front of me and stops me. "I fucking told you! I'm sorry I hurt you."

I stare at him.  _ How DARE you! _ "It's too late, it's too late. You can't… it's-"

"I know. I'm still sorry. I wish it hadn't happened. Let me hold her."

"No!"

"Lisa, I'm her father."

"Father! You're… you're nothing, you're nothing but a… a… sperm donor!" I can barely talk because I'm so cold. And I'm angry again. I'm always angry it seems. It has engraved itself into my organism somehow.

His eyes glint in the dark. "That's low. That's really fuckin' low. I've changed… I'm not the same man I was before."

"Low! Who's low? You can't just come here, pry into our lives once more, and take, take, take. And why did you have to destroy my car? I HATE you!"

He looks at me, his lips pursed, his gaze distant. "I can't blame you."

"And 'changed'," I yell. "Tell that to Ray!"

He's quiet after that and we struggle side by side until we get back, his presence next to me as physically apparent as if he were sticking needles in my side. With every step I take closer to my 'home', it feels more and more like I'm on my way to prison. Sentenced to life.

Life with him.


	15. Undone

'Tell that to Ray.'

I can't.

I can't tell that to Ray because he doesn't exist anymore. I examine my inner thoughts, trying to gauge how I feel about that. Have I really changed, as I say I have? And no matter how hard I try, I feel no remorse. That can't be good…can it? I'm sorry that she's sorry. That she hurts. For that reason I wish he hadn't gotten in my way. But there's nothing in me that feels anything for the stupid fuck.

I realize I can't tell that to Lisa. Maybe that's a change? Maybe that's 'good'? I don't know. Having people I suddenly care about is a lot more complicated than I'd have ever thought. Especially when said people don't want anything to do with me.

I struggle through the snow next to her, trembling from the cold, and the shock of waking up only a few moments ago and find the front door slammed open and loads of snow whirling through the room. Far off in the darkness I see the little light in the kitchen window. Too far. I can't believe she took the risk of taking Cecilia out in this weather. In the middle of the fucking night! I should've just kept her tied up and saved me the trouble. She's so fucking stubborn. I have to admire her incredible strength. And I must admit my defeat, at the very least to myself. I've underestimated her. 

Again. 

History repeats itself.

When we're finally inside, I slam the door closed behind us, drowning us in darkness. Lisa stumbles and falls to her knees. At this very moment I don't give a shit about how she feels, but I do care about the little life she's been torturing out in the raging winter.

"Let her go now, Lisa."

She's too weak to protest and, freeing Cecilia from Lisa's clutch, I unwrap the blanket and assess her status. She's sleeping deeply. I find that a bit odd, that she can sleep through this whole ordeal. Then a cold wave of nausea washes over me. I grab Lisa by the hair at the back of her neck with my free hand and force her to look at me. She gives out a squeal of pain, her arms flailing as she tries to reach my hand.

"What did you do?" I hiss.

"Pleasedon'tkillme," she breathes, her eyes filled with tears, her eyelashes still rimmed with slowly melting frost.

"What the FUCK did you do? Did you drug her?"

She answers with a sob.

A new thought strikes me. The coffee! "Did you drug ME?" I pull her hair hard. "Answer me!"

All she does is wail and I let her go with a push that sends her to the floor. I leave for the bedroom. Lisa can do whatever the fuck she wants. If she runs it's her loss. I'm putting my daughter to bed. I pull off the excess of clothes and tuck her in. She's breathing regularly, her skin is warm and has good color. She seems alright. When I turn I almost bump into Leese who's standing in the doorway, hunched, swaying.

"How is she?" Her voice quavers.

"What do you care?" I growl and push at her chest to get her out of my way. I flinch when she grabs my arm.

"It's a prescription, Jackson. For her. From when she was a baby. It isn't dangerous. I'd never…" Her voice trails off.

_ M-hm. _ I swallow and my dry throat rasps. I have slept much too little in the last few days, but I feel dizzy in an uncomfortable way that I don't recognize. I grab her wrist hard and twist it, backing her out into the main room. She winces but doesn't try to free herself.

"Did you drug me as well?" I snarl, forcing her down on her knees before me. I want to shake her, slap her, bang her head against the wall. But I have to fucking fight against my own recent claims. I can't tell Ray that I've changed. That's too late. But it might not be too late for this one.

Or maybe it is.

::

**Some Things Are Not Easily Forgiven**

I failed. I gave it my best shot and I failed. Cece's back in bed and I'm on my knees on my living room floor, sobbing, with a furious Jackson looming over me. I flinch when he roars. "What the FUCK did you give to me?"

"Noth… it's just… I gave you the same medicine I gave her. I hoped you'd sleep. That it'd make you sleep deeper… that's all…"

He's silent and then he gives off a barking laugh. "Did you try to drug a full-grown man with stuff prescribed for a baby?"

"Why didn't you just sleep?" I cry.

"It's fucking hard, sweetheart, with the front door wide open to a winter storm. You should've done a better job closing it. Why the hell did you try to go out there? It's insane."

"W-why?" I look up at him, sitting back on my heels. "WHY? I only did what every sane person would do in my place!"

"What? Go out into a snowstorm with a baby in the middle of the night? In a car that's not going anywhere?"

"I couldn't have known it wouldn't start!"

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"We're hostages, Jackson! You're keeping us hostage! You're dangerous, unpredictable, a known killer, a… a murderer. You have raped me, hurt me…" I swallow hard. "God only knows what you'll do to us if we don't get away from you. I had to try and save my baby."

"You… I… What the FUCK! I've TOLD you I'm not here to hurt you!" I glance at him; his fists clench and unclench and his face is a mask of anger.

I snort. "Everything you've done so far has proven otherwise." I rub the back of my head. It hurts where he pulled my hair.

"And I'm NOT a 'known' killer!" He purses his lips as he glares at me. He almost pouts. Did I hit a nerve?

"You're known to me," I hiss.

He regards me but doesn't answer. Instead he starts pacing the floor. The snow has melted and pools of water are slowly sinking into the cracks between the floorboards. The snowflakes in his hair is turning into water and making his dark tresses curl around his temples. 

"She's my kid too, Lisa."

_ YOURS? Who the HELL do you think you are?  _ I shift on the floor, a shudder wracking my body. I'm so cold and wet. I don't think there's a dry thread left on me and the room's cold, the floor's even colder. I jerk when he grabs my arm and pulls me back up, pushing me in the direction of the couch. 

"Sit!"

I stumble to the couch and fall onto the cushions. Swaying with defeat and bottomless exhaustion, I wrap myself in the blanket that lies there. A sob escapes me. Then another. And another. "Why did you come here?" I’m crying freely now, warm tears making their way over my cold cheeks, pooling under my chin. "Why did you have to destroy everything I've built up? Again." I pull the blanket tighter, still shivering violently.

He paces the floor in front of me and when he stops, I expect anything but what he says.

"I… want you, Lisa. I couldn't stop thinking about you, and about her. And then you had to go and fuckin' disappear on me!"

For a moment I'm stunned by his honesty, then a red haze of fury washes over me. "Well, you can't  _ HAVE _ me," I scream. "You blew that,  _ JACK _ ! You're the most terrifying person I've ever met in my entire  _ LIFE _ and I'm never, ever forgiving what you've done to me and my family! How can you even  _ THINK _ that I… that  _ WE _ … It’s pathetic!" I stare up at him in defiance. 

His jaws clench and unclench and he's a frightening vision with the growing rage flaring as an aura surrounding him. It electrifies the air around us and enwraps me in the storm that suddenly boils inside my living room and not only outside. He takes a step closer, his moves measured, and I see it as if through a twisted mirror but yet so clearly. I see that he acts the same way he did when Ray showed up: unnaturally calm, controlled, showing no emotions. I cringe, closing my eyes to block out the sight of him as he grips my chin and squeezes it, pushing my head back hard.

"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" he rasps, his breath hot on my face and I squeeze my eyes shut. 

My eyes fly open again as I feel the cold, sharp edge against my throat. I gulp once and meet his icy gaze level with mine. There's no compassion in there at all. None.

"I could kill you, Leese. Now. It'd be so easy. Rid me of the annoyance of having you screaming at me all the fucking time, trying to kill me, poison me. You know…  _ SHE  _ wouldn't even remember she had a mother at all…"

"No," I whisper, all of a sudden subdued into nothingness. "No, Jackson, please. Please don't. I'll do anything, anything just…. Please." I try to catch his eyes with mine, pleading with him wordlessly not to do this.

He looks frighteningly cold as he glares down at me. "Anything? Is that so?"

I realize my mistake too late. I see my offer as he must see it. I still feel his hands all over my skin, I feel him INSIDE me and a cold shiver runs down my spine.  _ God, no…  _ "I… I… Jackson, you're not this man. You don't want this. You came here to see your daughter, not to kill me or-"

"Shut up!" he growls, his fingers clutching my hair at the back of my head, forcing me closer. "You're dancing on razor blades. You haven't got the slightest idea who I am and the things I've done!"

But I do. I know him so terrifyingly well. With his hands on me again, his skin on mine once more, I suddenly remember it all. The pain, the violence, and the hurt.  _ Oh, I know you. _ I raise my hand and put it over his, suddenly oddly calm, suddenly knowing how I might reach him.  _ I hurt you, didn't I? I hurt you a long time ago, when we first met. I hurt you when you came to my apartment that night. And I hurt you just now. _ He's just… incapacitated. This is all he knows. The violence, the force, the power games. 

I’m not excusing it, him, but I get it. 

_ God, I'm so sick of it all! _ This is not what he wants. I know it, and I know how I can save us. My fingers mold around his fingers, my thumb over his thumb. His hand is cold. Mine even colder.

"Does it hurt, Jackson? Does it hurt to have your throat slit? Or do you just fade into oblivion?” My voice is soft. “Are you quick, efficient? Good at what you do? I think you are. Will you take care of her, then? When I can't? Because if you don't I'll come back and haunt you, so help me god."

My voice is much calmer than my heart. I wait. He pulls away from me, knife, hands, everything, and backs up several steps.

It worked.

"You're fucking crazy, Leese!" He shakes his head.

"Am I? So then you're not the only one in this room that is? That must be such a relief."

He stares at me, the muscle at the side of his jaw working, and then he starts laughing. "You're unbelievable."

I can't help the small chuckle that builds in my chest when I watch him laugh. It's the release of all the tensions that have been building between us since he got here, and the fact that I suddenly know exactly where he stands, what he really wants. Even if it isn't what I want, it still feels liberating to know. 

And I can finally breathe. "I know," I say. My eyes follow his movements as he pockets the knife. "Will that thing keep reappearing?"

He looks at me and then at his hand that is still holding the knife's handle. Then he shakes his head. "No."

"What does that mean? Have you really changed?"

He finishes with the knife and snaps his side pocket closed. "My priorities have, yes." He drops onto the couch, right next to me, then he lifts the blanket and stares at my soaked clothes. "What the fuck, Lisa? Go and change or you'll catch a cold."

"I'm too tired." And I am. I have no energy left whatsoever; our last fight took the very last ounce I had and I just want to sit here. I just want to sleep.

"That's not good enough."

"Since when do you worry 'bout my health?" I slur. "That's just so… not you."

"Since now. Raise your arms."

I obey and he yanks off my wet pullover and my thicker sweater in one move. My two T-shirts cling to my body and I have goosebumps all over.

"You have two choices. Either I undress you, or you do it yourself, either way you're getting in the shower."

I force myself to get up on shaky legs. There'll be none of that. No way. "I'll do it."

"Good girl. Hop into the bathroom. I'll bring you a bunch of dry clothes."

"You've sure made yourself comfortable here."

"Had to. Had to look for anything you could use as a weapon."

I snort. "And here I was thinking you'd turned domestic."

"Nah. It's me 'needing' to be nice."

I shake my head and stumble into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

"And Leese!" he shouts.

"Yeah!" I shout back.

"I really am sorry."

_ Sure. Okay.  _ I know HE thinks he means it. I fall back against the door once I'm alone, my hands darting up to touch the skin on my throat. It's undamaged. I tremble hard as I undress, and it's not only from the cold. For a moment I really thought he was going to kill me, and now I'm suddenly just as sure that he won't.

' _ I want you, Lisa.' _

Good God! How do I get out of this?

 

**Late Night Heat**

It's one a.m. and I'm fighting sleep while I listen to the clattering sound of her showering. It gives me a feeling of déjà vu, but I can't remember why. I shiver inside a not entirely dry blanket, the same one Lisa had on a few moments ago. Trying to make myself useful, and to get a little less cold, I get up and grab a couple of towels from her drawer and wipe the melted snow off the floor. Then I sit and listen again. It's quiet from inside the bathroom and I wish I knew what she is doing. I wish even more that I knew what she is thinking. I see her before me. The way she looked long ago, before I killed the light in her eyes. I wonder what it'll take to get it back. 

If anything ever will.

I jerk awake when the door opens and a cloud of warm-wet, soap-scented air enters the living room. My heart already pounds hard and, when she materializes through the mist, it feels like it's gonna beat me to death from the inside of my chest. She's dressed in flannel pajamas, covered from top to toe in pink roses. Her face looks naked, new somehow. She's so fucking beautiful.

"Romantic," I grin.

"T'was a gift," she answers flatly and adjusts the top button. "Jackson…" She walks up to me, hesitantly. "Oh my GOD, you're soaked. YOU have to get out of your clothes. Now."

I grin. "Are you offering?"

She raises an eyebrow and doesn't answer.

I shrug and backpedal. That wasn’t clever. "I haven't got any other clothes."

She looks behind her. "I think I've got some. You get out of that now."

She disappears into the little hallway on the opposite side of the room, the one with the jammed backdoor. I start fighting my shirt but my left shoulder refuses to let me raise my arm enough and I have to give up. I yank and pull to get out of my pants instead. When I look up, she's standing in front of me, frozen, her face blank. She's holding a pile of clothes and hands them to me with trembling arms.

"I'm… ahm… sorry," she says. "I can't… you…"

I get it. I grab the blanket and cover my bared legs with it, then I begin to look through the pile. There's a pair of green cargo pants, a thick checkered flannel shirt, thick fleece socks, a couple of T-shirts. I look back up at her and see that's she's composed herself somewhat.

"Where've you been hiding these gems?"

"In the back. With the giant hunter's knife."

"What?"

She grins mischievously.

"Where is it now?" I have to ask.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Get over yourself!"

Her face darkens. "I'm supposed to trust you… but you can't trust me?"

I stare at her. That is simply not the same thing. I can't believe she's making such fucking fuss about it. "We're not arguing about this. I'll need that knife, Leese. It’s only a couple of hours since you drugged me."

She glares at me and then she shrugs. "You can get it yourself if it's so damn important."

Turning to leave, she stops flat when I catch her wrist.  _ Jackson, you're being an asshole, suck it up and apologize! _ "It's-ahm - it’s not that I don't trust you… it's too much of a habit to... to be in control."

She pulls her hand out of my grip. "I thought you never lied, Jack!"

"Fucking hell! Okay. Keep the knife!" My insides clench with unease. It goes against everything I've learned, my every instinct. I’m gonna have to find it of course. 

We glare at each other for what feels like an eternity until, finally, she looks away. "Good night."

"Lisa!"

She has started towards the bedroom and stops and turns.

"How come you didn't save that knife for later? Why'd you let me know it was there? I just held a fuckin' knife to YOUR throat."

She's silent for a moment, then she cocks her head. "Maybe that's where we're different, huh? I don't take every chance I get to try to kill people."

I sigh. Then I raise an eyebrow and turn away. I don't know what to answer to that.

"Jackson."

I turn back towards her.

"There is no knife. I was just pulling your leg, but you had to go and take it so damn seriously."

_ What the fuck? _ "Do you actually LIKE pissing me off?"

She shoots me a pale smile. "Maybe. At least it's helped me stay warm." Sighing, she pulls at the hem of her pajama top. "Will you still be here tomorrow when I wake up?"

"Yes."

She sighs and closes her eyes and I don't know how to interpret the look on her face. Disappointment? Relief? "Where do we go from here, Jackson?"

"Leese. None of us are going anywhere the way it looks outside. When that day comes… we'll just take it from there. Okay?"

She bites her lip and nods. "Okay." Turning on her heel, she leaves for the bedroom and pulls the door closed behind her. 

I remain standing, looking at the closed door. I don't get her.  _ Women! _ I find myself wishing she at least had let me help her get warm. Her lips were still bluish and her skin so pale. Myself, I feel hotter than hell right now. It must be all the fighting, all the adrenaline.

It's hard to find a comfortable position on the narrow couch. The aching in my shoulder is worse than it was this morning. I'm too tired to look at it now. I'll do it tomorrow. I toss and turn. I'm so drained that I could throw up but I can't sleep. A part of me is worried about the door that I haven't blocked. I'm afraid she'll make another escape attempt. My shirt is wet from sweat and I shiver constantly even though my cheeks burn. And the damn shoulder throbs. 

_ FUCK! _

Finally, I realize I'll have to get the shirt off but it clings to my body and it's impossible. I try ripping it to pieces with my good arm, but it doesn't budge over my shoulders where the seams are stronger and I end up with blue-bloodied shirt hanging in shreds around my torso. Fuckin' quality! Tiptoeing to her bedroom door, I listen for sounds of breathing. I hear Cecilia's light snoring and an occasional snivel, but nothing else. I push the crack wider and enter. Spotting the contour of Lisa in the bed, I bend over her and intend to whisper in her ear.

"What do you want?" she whispers tersely before I have a chance to say anything.

"I need help," I whisper back.

"With what?" Her voice has a sharp edge to it and it's obvious that she doubts my intentions.

"It's nothing. Go back to sleep." I turn to leave.

I jerk when I feel her hand grip around my wrist. "Ahm… I... With what?"

"It's not what it sounds like… But I need help getting my shirt off."

Her silence tells me everything and I'm surprised when she gets up. "Okay, I'm coming."

I stumble to the table by the couch. I'm dizzy and nauseous. She could overpower me easily right now because I'm a wreck. I can only hope she won't notice. I look up at the woman before me. She is pale but looks calm. "My shoulder hurts… it's stiff and swollen and I can't get this shirt off. It's wet still and-"

"I can see that you've tried. You've ruined it completely."

I can only nod.

"Which shoulder is it?"

I lift my left shoulder a little and let it drop again.

"Okay." She pulls the right shirt arm off behind my back, yanking at the material that sits like one with my skin. Then she carefully peels off the left one the same way.

I shiver when her fingertips touch my skin as she works the shirt.

"My God, Jackson. You're burning hot."

"I'm cold as hell, Leese."

"Yeah, your arms are, but up here you're so warm." She touches my left scapula and her fingers leave traces that burn hotter than any fever.

"Thanks," I growl and suddenly need to pull away. There's obviously one part of me that isn't tired. At all.  

"How does your wound look?" To my great surprise her voice is suddenly laced with worry.

"It's fine." I don't want her hands on me again.

"Let me have a look."

"What for? It's fine," I hiss.

"Jackson! You stubborn cretin. Let me."

I shrug, annoyed, feigning indifference, the indifference I know I should be feeling. "Fine. Whatever."

She starts pulling at the makeshift bandage that has covered the wound since yesterday. "Why did you let your hair grow so long?" she asks.

Layer after layer comes off.

"Why did you cut yours short?" I reply.

She stops the motion and pulls at one of her short auburn tendrils, twisting it around her index finger. "I don't know… I think it didn't feel like me anymore."

I nod. "I stopped caring. It grew."

She regards me. "Hm. I'd have figured you as vain."

"Vain?" I snort.

"Definitely. Pretty boy-vain."

"And you haven't been 'pretty girl-vain', then?" I grin.

She squirms. "That was a long time ago," she says quietly.

_ Ouch. _ I know I've stepped over a line that should never have been passed. Her last words wrap us in an uncomfortable silence. I clear my throat to say that I can take it from here, wanting to get her out of the room. It's as much for her sake as for mine. But what comes out sounds a lot harsher than intended. 

"Leave. Go the fuck back to sleep, Leese."

She lets go of my shoulder and takes a step back. Then she turns on her heels and leaves. I have no words. No words of comfort. No clever replies.

Fucking. Nothing.


	16. Fever

Cece sleeps until nine. Had I been awake I would have worried and wondered. But I slept like dead. My first real sleep since HE came here. I wonder if he has slept too. I let her down on the floor. Slipping my feet into a pair of thick socks, I leave our bedroom on tiptoe. Cece isn't as subtle. In the living room the air is stale and used. Outside it's darker than it was yesterday and it still snows. And the wind howls.

He lies on his back, completely still under a thick blanket. He's taller than the couch is long and his legs are curled awkwardly. I stiffen and stop for a moment to look at him. His eyes are closed. Does he move at all? But when we walk past him, he lifts his head.

"Is it morning?" His voice is rough and raspy and there’s something in it that sends shivers down my spine.

"Yeah. Nine."

"I need more sleep… is it okay if I lie here a little longer?"

I stop and stare at him, putting my hand on my hip. I'm confused.  _ Since when do you ask me what you can do?  _ “Of course.”

"Are you leaving?"

I'm even more confused. I frown. Then I walk to the front door, open it and look out into the maelstrom that is the outside world before I pull it closed again. It feels as if a large hand is trying to keep it open. "Ahm… Let's see, no car, full storm… No. I don't think so."

"Thank you," he says. Then his head falls back onto the pillow and he closes his eyes.

_ Thank you?  _ I can't even begin to think about what he meant.

Preparing breakfast for us, I think about eating it out there, in front of him. Then I realize the silliness of it all and make an extra cup of coffee and put a couple of extra pieces of bread in the oven. He can slice it himself, though. I don't have a single knife left.

His eyes are dark and hollow and his face pale when he turns his head the next time I walk up to him.

"Breakfast."

"Good for you."

"I made you some."

THAT wakes him up. "You-" 

He sits up, swaying. I see that he's put on the flannel shirt since I saw him last and that for the first time, since I slammed a log onto his head, he looks clean, neat, and… normal. "You made some for ME?"

"Just eat it and shut up," I snarl. I don't want to have to argue about every little thing.

"I'll be back in a minute." I look at his back as he heaves himself up off the couch and leaves for the bathroom, swaying a little. He looks different. Calmer. Weaker. I can't help wondering if I can use that against him. Maybe. I file the thought away for later.

We start eating in silence. Jackson has fetched the bread knife and everything seems oddly normal. Except 'normal' never used to be with HIM at the breakfast table. I steal a glance at him and blush as he catches my gaze. He is so pale.

"Did you spike my coffee again?"

I almost choke on my tea. "No."

He takes a swallow. "Good. It's less sugary that way."

My cheeks burn and I look down. "So… ahm. I'm not sure what's going on…" I don’t even know what I mean myself or what kind of answer I expect. I busy myself with spreading butter on a piece of bread.

"Me neither, really. Does it matter, though? At this point?”

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "Is it that important to know everything, to have everything planned out?"

I don't get it and I don't know how to answer. I'm beginning to think he's hallucinating because he doesn't sound like himself any more. I wonder when I started to believe that I knew anything about him at all.

He clears his throat. "Is it that important… to be in control?"

I stare at him. Then I nod. "Yes. Of course it is. Don't you think so?"

He takes a bite out of a piece of bread and chews it annoyingly slow, letting out a half-shrug. "I'm used to plans changing, to needing to adapt."

"But you try to control it, don't you? I doubt that you're that much of a hippie inside that sharp suit."

He looks down at his flannel shirt and grins. "Not very sharp at the moment."

I wave tiredly. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

I frown. He's acting strange. The conversation dies after that. I help Cece with breakfast and then I let her bathe. Jackson stands by the window as I get back after she's finished. I follow his gaze. The day is just a nuance less dark than the night.

"You've raised her beautifully," he says softly.

That wasn't what I expected. I'd have thought he'd crack more 'wise words from the life of a mercenary.' "She's a very easy child. Maybe you've noticed." I avoid his gaze.

"Yes, and no. I… don't have much experience with kids."

Something in his voice makes me glance at him. He sounds so desolate. I swallow hard.  _ Not human. You're NOT human.  _ "I figured as much."

He gives me a half-smile. Sad-looking.

_ Damn you! _

I pour my daughter into fresh clothes as I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. She trots off to the fireplace and starts piling some of the lighter logs. There's a peacefully crackling fire burning behind the thick glass doors.

"Did you light it?" I ask to have something to say.  _ Of course he did! Extremely stupid question.  _

"Yeah. It was cold."

The morning passes agonizingly slowly. Cecilia sleeps when we should have eaten lunch and I fall into a coma next to her. I wake, sweaty, full of worry.  _ Where is he? _ I need to see what he's doing. More hours have passed than I would have thought. Yes. I need the control.

Jackson is lying on the couch with his back to me. I immediately realize two things, and both make my heart beat faster with unease: first, he is exposing his back and I have access to a knife again… second, I think there's something wrong with him, other than the obvious - that he is who he is. I don't think he's well. Physically. I bend over him and his eyelids flutter but he doesn't wake. That's strange. His forehead is sweaty and his face is flushed. Putting my palm against his forehead, I gasp when his hand suddenly sneaks out and grabs mine. But I felt it.

"You're burning up, Jackson. You have a fever."

"Yeah, I know," he mumbles and releases his hold on my hand. He rises with a grimace and remains sitting, swaying. "I think I need to look at my shoulder."

Guilt suddenly stabs me. "I can help you with that." 

He chased me off last night, but I still feel the urge to help him with what he obviously can't handle himself. And in a way it's my fault, but I silent that thought, because mainly it's his own fault and I need to stop taking blames. But I can't let him die.

"No," he protests, but I've already started peeling off that side of his shirt. 

Warm air rises from his skin mixed with a scent that I recognize. A scent that not too long ago made me shudder, but my old memories have already started to change shape and rebuild into new ones and it smells like him and nothing else. His skin is too hot. I continue with his bandage, and sure enough, the wound in his shoulder has glaring red edges and there's white-gray goo between them. I press at his skin where there's a reddish swelling and it seems to fluctuate. I don't think that's a good sign.

"This doesn't look too good."

"That should please you," he says, tiredly, sounding as if he's given up all of a sudden.

For some reason it worries me, that he's ill and that he's so indifferent about it. And it worries me that I'm concerned. "Hey," I say, cheerily, "not as much as it pleases me that I get to cut into you with a knife. Again." I smirk widely and pat his arm.

He glances at his shoulder. "How do you figure?"

"Because I think that wound needs to be opened. There's infected stuff stuck in there. Pus." I press carefully at the red area to show him and he winces.

"How can you tell?"

"Mmm… I got a nail through my finger the second week we lived here. We were fixing the porch. It looked like this after a few days and I had to go to see a doctor. He cut it open and gave me antibiotics for it." I leave out the part about how I forgot to take them after a couple of days and had to have the procedure done all over again and with a new prescription.

He raises an eyebrow as he glares at his shoulder again. "If you leave it I might die. I thought you'd like that."

"I didn't think you were suicidal, Jack. Besides, it doesn't matter what I do to kill you, you always seems to bounce back. So I'm thinking that if I'm trying to help you, then I might actually succeed…" I grin at him, trying to keep up the casual banter but I don't really think it's that funny. My heart flutters and I really am kind of worried.

He sways and lies back down. "Can't it wait?" Closing his eyes, he turns his back to me again.

"Jackson! Get a grip! Come on! Don't leave me in the middle of a snow storm alone with a child and two dead men!" It comes out even more desperate than intended.

That wakes him. "Okay," he grumbles and sits back up. "You'll probably need to sterilize the knife first." Even weak and tired he's suddenly all business.

"With alcohol?"

"That'll do if you have something strong enough."

I probably don't. I only drink an occasional glass of wine. I shake my head. "In a flame?"

He nods.

"Can you provide me with a better knife than the kitchen knife?"

"In my pocket," he says tiredly.

I open the leg pocket with trembling hands and haul out the knife I had to my throat just last night. I look at its matte black blade. I've never seen anything like it. I flick it before me while a shudder ripples through my chest. "How many people have you killed with this?"

He gives me a glare through heavily lidded eyes that makes me shiver in spite of his weakened state. That is obviously a line I'm not supposed to cross.

I grimace and march off to the fireplace, opening one of the thick glass doors and sticking the blade in the fire for a few seconds. Then I walk back to the couch and sit down next to him. As I hold the tip to the wound, the blade is still smoking hot. Jackson glances at what I'm doing and jerks away.

"For God's sake! Let it cool first!"

"Oh. Sorry."

"Are you sure you don't want me to-"

"NO! I can take it." I blush and wait. After a while I let the side of the blade rest against the back of my hand. It has cooled off.

It's time.

 

**Tease**

Her hand trembles and her face is pale. Indecisively, she lifts the knife and aims its tip at the wound's entrance. Then she lowers it again. The shock of adrenaline when I thought she was going to cauterize my shoulder woke me up pretty good and I'm a lot less tired than I've been these last hours.

"Leese, sweetheart, are you sure you're up to this? It's not as easy as one might think, to cut someone…"

She waves with the knife in front of my face and I can't help a tiny flinch.  _ Careful woman, I don't think you have the slightest idea as to just how sharp that thing is! _

"I'm NOT your sweetheart, Jackson! How DARE you when I'm sitting here with a knife…? Besides, I have cut you before."

I close my eyes and lean my head back. I can't help but smile ever so little.  _ I think you're coming back to yourself, Lisa.  _ "Go ahead, then."

When nothing still happens, I open my eyes again and peek at her. The tip of the knife is just by the wound, and it trembles.

"I… I don't think…"

"Don't think. Just do. And you'll see that afterwards you'll have that tingling feeling, the one in the pit of your belly, like when you've had an orgasm." I shoot her a wide grin to piss her off enough to get her to just do it.

It works. 

Her gaze darkens several shades and biting her lip, she pushes the tip into the wound, pressing it deeper and deeper. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, it feels as if she just held a torch to my skin and I can't help the shudder of pain that wracks my body. Biting my teeth together hard, I refuse to give in to the roar that wants out. When I look again, the knife is already out of the wound again and my shoulder actually feels a little less strained already. A stream of grayish-yellow, dirty-looking pus is seeping from where she punctured me. It's not as much as I’d have thought, but it seems to make the difference.

"You're such a piece of shit," she exclaims and gets up. The knife clatters as it hits the hard surface of the table.

I cock my head and look at her. She is so sexy when her eyes flare. I smirk as I get up off the couch and when she sees me standing, she takes a couple of steps back. I pick up the knife and sheath it. I'll have to remember to clean it. Then I limp towards the bathroom. I saw a pack of antibiotics there when I rummaged through her cabinet before. Is it already a couple of days ago? Whatever they were prescribed for, it can't be wrong to try them.

Before I pull the door to the bathroom open, I stop and look at her. "Was it as good as I said it would be?"

The slap is hard, unexpected, and probably well-earned.

I touch my burning cheek and lick my lower lip. It tastes salty from her palm.

"THAT felt good," she snarls.

I pull the door open. "I'm sure it did, Leese.” I flash her a grin.

She puts her hands on her hips and glares back at me. "You’re such a prick!"

I raise an eyebrow and enter the bathroom, locking the door carefully behind me. All this touching, and all this unexpected closeness, has made me itch and suddenly I'm anything but tired.

::

**Expect the unexpected**

I don't know why he’s being such an ass again. I was only trying to help. My stomach is a tight knot from the tension of having to cut into his wound and then the weird afterplay. I'm utterly thankful when Cece wakes up and gives me something to occupy my body and mind with. Except my mind isn't where my body is. I can't help thinking about his heated skin, the glint in his blue eyes, about what he's doing in the bathroom for so long.

I almost jump out of my skin when the bathroom door finally opens. I'm feeding Cecilia an apple that I've cut into slices and I'm thankful to keep her between us.

There are new strips of sheet covering the wound. My stock will soon run out. He gives me an unreadable glare and slowly pulls the shirt back on, leaving it unbuttoned. And then, instead of coming to the couch where we sit, he walks to my bedroom and closes the door behind him.

_ What?  _ I'm up and off of the couch the same moment the door clicks closed.  _ No way!  _ In a couple of strides I'm by the door and rip it open. "What do you think you're doing?" He's lying on my bed. He's lying on MY bed! His shirt is still unbuttoned and I stop flat before the sight of his naked belly. "Get out!" I snarl.

He lies with his right hand behind his head, glancing lazily at me, his cheeks slightly flushed. "I just had to get you alone for a second."

"W- why?"

"Come here." He crooks a finger and bids me closer. I take a hesitant step towards him.

"What?"

He grips my wrist and pulls at my arm. His hand is warm and dry. “Please just sit with me a moment.”

Against my better judgement I hesitantly sit myself down on the very edge of the bed. 

“I WAS being a prick. I admit. I just felt for a moment that there was something there… Something more.“ His voice falters. 

For a moment I’m stunned. Why would he think that? Is it me? Do I send out signals that make him believe … something?

“Look,” I say and swallow hard, my thoughts a tangle, a mess. “I guess we can be moderately civilized as it is, being stuck under the same roof and all.. “ I squirm and adjust a little on the uncomfortable wooden edge of the bed. “But something more… I think you…  misunderstood.”

He still holds my wrist, and I haven’t pulled away. His touch doesn’t disgust me. Maybe because he seems weak as a chicken and entirely harmless. Maybe because there has proven to be more to him than the monster I thought I knew. I don’t really want to admit it to myself, but something is changing between us. My loathing, my fear, isn’t right under the surface anymore. Actually, it hasn’t popped up since after last night. After my mad attempt at running, and our showdown after. It still doesn’t mean for a second that I’m comfortable around him. 

It still doesn’t mean he can camp in MY bed. 

“I get that now,” he says tiredly. “I know what you’re about to say, but can I please sleep for an hour on your bed? I’m so, so tired.”

_ Please again. _

I sigh. “Fine. But in an hour I’ll toss you out.” 

He smiles, then pulls me towards him, lifts his head slightly and places a featherlight kiss on the back of my hand. “Thank you.”

It stings like a thousand bees, and I jerk my hand out of his grip, jumping up from my sitting position. 

He has closed his eyes. “Too much?” he mumbles.

I don’t answer and slam the door shut behind me, fuming. We had a couple of moments of NOT trying to tear each others throats out, and then he has to interpret it like the ass he is. 

Cece has lost interest in the apple and is playing with a jigsaw puzzle on the floor, slamming the large pieces of wood against each other. Something is different. I rub the back of my hand again and look around me. I don't know wha-

It's stopped snowing!


	17. Sorrow

I need to make us dinner, but I’m a mess. It's like a twitch. I can’t control it. I keep rubbing at the spot where his lips touched my skin. My heart is still pounding. I'm in shreds. Like his damn shirt. Damn, damn, damn, damn bloodied shirt! Unable to focus on anything, I finally manage to boil potatoes, mash them and cut some ham. I'm out of vegetables. I'm gonna have to ask Ray-

_ Oh, God! _

_ No! _

The tears that fall are as much for me as they are for Ray. Numb, and with sluggish moves, I serve Cecilia and put some on a plate for me. But then I can't eat. She tries her best to hit her mouth. I usually help her, but now I just sit with my face in my palms and sigh, deeply, hiding my bloodshot eyes, fighting to not cry in front of her. I don't want to worry her.

When I look up he's standing next to me. His face is a little less pale, and his eyes aren't as dull as they were a few hours ago. Suddenly I’m furious. 

For Ray. 

For me. 

"What do you want?" I snarl and then the words just burst right out of my chest. "What do you mean when you say that you want me? What do you mean 'want'? Do you want my… body? Do you want us to get married? What the hell do you mean?" Cecilia has stopped eating and is staring at her mother who is suddenly talking with such an evil voice. Her lower lip trembles. I can't comfort her right now. "Eat up!" I hiss at her.

Jackson glares at me and then goes to sit next to her. Cooing, chasing a piece of ham on the plate with the fork and then feeding it to her, he makes her giggle.

I cry.

"I hate you!" I bellow.

He gives me a dark gaze and then wipes some mashed potato off her cheek before he gives her another forkful of ham and potatoes.

I stand so abruptly that the chair topples and falls to the floor behind me. "Stop feeding her! She NOT your daughter! You have no right-"

"For fuck's sake, Leese, what’s gotten into you now? Get a grip!" he snarls between clenched teeth.

"What are you going to do about Ray?" I ask evilly.

He gives me a furious glance and puts the fork in Cece's hand. "You're a big girl, honey, you can eat some yourself."

My heart rate picks up as he stands and walks over to me. He grips hard around my wrist. Too hard. "Come on, Leese. Get it off your chest, whatever it is, but don't take it out on her." He pulls me with him and forces me to come closer. 

"Wh- what are you doing?" I stutter, suddenly afraid.

"Take it out on me, Lisa, on someone closer to your own size. I can take it. She can't." He nods at our daughter and I have to swallow against the sudden lump in my throat.

"Mama?" she says, her little voice filled with worry. 

He nods at her. "Do your job."

I stare at him, frowning, then back at her as I compose myself. "Mommy'll be back in a second, honey. I… just… It's alright."  _ It's NOT alright! It'll never again be alright! I'm lying. _

Jackson pulls at my arm and I stumble behind him until we're alone in my bedroom again. He shoves me inside and pulls the door closed. "What's with all these fuckin' questions all of a sudden? What's the matter with you?" His lips are tightly pressed and his eyes gleam in the dusky room.

I want to kill him at this moment. I wish I hadn't helped him before. "What do you want with me?" I hiss. "With everything you've done to me, what you've put me through, there's no way, never, that I'm letting you 'have me'. You're ridiculous, coming here and… It's too late for everything."

"And I've never done anything good to you? Ever given you anything?" His voice is hard, matching the look in his eyes.

" _ NO _ !" I scream.

"Keep your voice down! Not even her, then?"

For a moment, I can't say anything. "You didn't 'give' her to me! She happened anyway. It's not thanks to you!" I turn away from him with a sob. I don't want to cry in front of him, but there's nowhere I can go when the tears begin to fall again. And then the words come, the words that I've tried so hard to contain. "Why did you rape me? You said you hadn't raped anyone else… why me? You  _ KNEW  _ what had happened to me… before… how  _ COULD  _ you?" I turn around and glare at him.

His eyes are ice cold. His face a mask. It’s like he’s not even there, only anger. "You should be happy I didn't kill you like I came to do."

I can't breathe. I can't even think. "But you did! Don't see that? And do I look 'happy' to you? It would have hurt less if you  _ HAD _ killed me!"

"Leese," he says impatiently. "I've told you already, in so many fucking ways, that I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do. And life is something to value a hell of a lot more than you do. Once it's gone it's just - gone."

"Why can't you leave me alone?" I sob. "Why did you have to be who you are?" I could swallow my tongue.  _ Why did I have to say that? _ "Why did you  _ RAPE _ me!?" I sink down on the edge of the bed, completely drained, trembling with exhaustion.

He settles next to me. "I… it just happened. It wasn't meant… I wasn't being myself at the time… and  _ YOU _ had majorly fucked up my life - and my pride."

I glare at him. "That's just sick," I spit. 

"I never said it was an excuse. I've never claimed to have one," he snarls.

I don't answer. His presence makes my whole body tingle and I fight myself to not go at him with my fists. I jerk when I feel his hand on my shoulder. "Was there ever a time when things could have been different?" he asks in a low voice, less cruel, softer.

"A… what?"

"Was there a time when everything wasn't too late?"

I stare at him.  _ I don't… NO!  _ "No, there wasn't," I snarl.

"I don’t believe you, Leese." His eyes have hardened again. "Not only are you lying to everyone around you, but also to yourself. That's how you're gonna raise my daughter?" He raises an eyebrow and glares expectantly at me.

My mouth opens and closes several times as I try to come up with a reply. Suddenly, he stands and opens the door. I look at his back as he leaves the room.

"Fucking fine parents she has, then!" I roar after him. "One murdering, raping asshole, and one liar!" I slam the door shut and fall onto the bed, sobbing, my sorrow over what I am, what I've become, raw, unyielding as a rock. It’s eating at my heart, my soul and my conscience. This is not who I want to be. I scream into my pillow, the sound hoarse and tearing at my throat.

I don't like who I am anymore.

Finally, when there are no more tears, I stop the sobbing and listen instead. What are they doing? I wonder what time it is. My stomach grumbles and reminds me that I haven't eaten. A sudden panic makes my chest clench. It's too quiet. They've left! I've been bad and they've left me! I'm up and off of the bed in a fraction of a second, shoving the door open and bursting out into the living room

They're sitting next to each other on the couch. A fire is crackling peacefully and he's reading to her. About Sammy the Fire truck. Her favorite book at the moment. Jackson looks up and gives me a warning glance. 

Cece doesn't look up at all, she points to the picture. "Sammy."

Jackson looks back to our daughter, smiling at her. "And what did Sammy do?"

"He wouu faie."

“Yes, he did,” he answers, without having a clue as to what she was saying.

My heart pounds so hard that it almost hurts. No. It hurts bad. He's taken her. Right before my eyes. He didn't even have to fight. I gave her to him. I'm a freak. I've turned into a monster. Into everything I've ever accused HIM of being. Maybe I should just leave? With a sob, I turn on my heel and dart back into the bedroom. Slamming the door closed behind me, I fall onto the bed again.

I don't hear him come in, but I feel the bed sink as he sits down on the edge.

"Go away!"

"Leese." His voice is unexpectedly tender. "What's the matter with you? I honestly thought, earlier today, that we had come farther than this. Suddenly, we're back at square one. What the fuck happened?"

"She hates me," I sob. "I hurt her and she hates me and she prefers you over me."

He snorts. "Leese. That was nothing. She's already forgotten it ever happened."

"I've never…" My voice breaks. "I've never yelled at her. I hurt her!"

"So, she's a fuckin' lucky child, then, if that was her first yelling. It happened, suck it up."

I'm hugging the pillow, afraid of his closeness, and even more afraid of being left alone with myself. "When are you letting us go?"

"When you've forgiven me and take your asses back to civilization."

I look up at him, in shock. "I can't… ever… You…"

"Leese," he says, tiredly. "You're not the only person in the world who's been hurt. You have to move on."

"I can't believe that's coming from  _ YOU _ !" I glare at him in defiance.

He looks a little guilty, but then he shrugs. "Consider yourself stuck with me, then."

Anger wells up inside me, like a flood of dark poisonous mud. "No! No way!" I dart up from the bed and he follows suite. I push at his chest to get him away from me. He's too close and I can't breathe. "Get  _ OUT _ !" I holler. "I hate you!" I push again and he catches my hands and shoves me backwards until I hit the wall.

"Stop it, Leese! You're overreacting!" he snarls.

He's holding both my arms so I try to slam my head onto his nose. Jackson evades me and I cringe as his expression changes into something less calm. One of his hands grips my chin and presses my head back to the wall.

"Let me go," I gasp, terrified over what I've suddenly unleashed.

He purses his lips as he glares at me from under a curtain of dark hair. I squirm and try to get loose, but he presses harder against me, his whole body covering every inch of mine. "You have no idea…" he whispers. And suddenly he crashes his lips against mine. My whole mind, my whole world, is instantly filled with his scent, his being.

I moan loud and try to get free. 

_ Please! _

When I'm finally able to bend my head away, I pant and stare at him, shaking my head, my eyes locked with his. 

_ Don't! _

He takes a sudden step back. Releasing me completely, he grins briefly and pulls his hand through his long hair as he licks his lower lip. Then his features suddenly turn very serious.  I'm panting, he's panting, our eyes are still locked and I find myself unable to look away from his hypnotizing blue pools.

I break the spell first. "Where's Cece?" She's my first priority. Now. Always.

"She's eating raisins and listen to Cinderella on the CD player. She looked like she'd fall asleep any moment."

_ Okay… she's okay… and I…. Oh god!  _ I begin to tremble and slide along the wall until I sit, my legs unable to support my weight anymore. Jackson crouches before me. I sob and curl up against the wall, fresh tears spilling over old ones on my cheeks. 

"I love her," I whisper, wiping my mouth repeatedly with the back of my hand..

"I know you do, Lisa." His voice is so filled with warmth that it makes another set of sobs wrack my chest.

"I was so alone. I didn't have anyone to share it with. Not anyone. You know… she was,  _ IS _ , such a miracle and she filled me with so much life and… You should've seen her. Smelled her when she was a newborn, they have a certain scent… a… have you…?" I look up at him just in time to see him shake his head. "No, you haven't. Of course you haven't," I mutter.

I shake my head as I hold his gaze. For a brief moment I ache for him and what he's missing out of life by being who he is. I want him to know. About her, and about what he's been losing out on. Maybe I want him to hurt, make him realize that he's such a loser - doing what he does with HIS life. 

I want him to get a glimpse of what he could have had.

What could have been.

It's small, but not so small. It's a revenge of sorts. "Her first sound that wasn't a hungry scream or just sweet nonsense… it was… It wasn't 'mommy'." I snort and smile through the tears. "It was 'amp'… like 'lamp', you know." 

My fingers thread in and out of each other as I twist my hands nervously. My eyes can't seem to keep looking into his for too long. It reminds me of too much. Things I don't want to be reminded of. Suddenly I hear him hiss, or so I think, but as I glance at him again he's got a smile on his face and my heart, my stupid, stupid female heart jolts at the sight. Because he is so heartbreakingly beautiful to look at when his features lighten and all the cruelty disappears as if it had never been there to begin with.

"Amp," he repeats. "That's cute. You'd think it'd be 'mommy'…" His voice falters. His gaze drifts towards the living room to where she's probably sleeping on the couch by now. "It should have been 'mommy'," he repeats, more to himself than to me.

::

**Tenderness**

"WHY?" she screams in my face. "Whywhywhywhy?"

I have tried so hard not to think about what I did. It hasn't hurt, because I haven't allowed it to get near me, but when her pain hits me full on I'm defenseless. And I give her the tiny piece of the truth that she can handle - or that I can handle giving her. Because I can't admit that I coldly, cruelly, took her only real weakness, twisted it into a sharp nail, and drove it as deep as I could into her body - and soul. I did what it is I do best, use someone's weakness against them. That's why they're paying me so disgustingly much, because no one's better at it. And I used that against her. My full capacity, years and years of practise, against this woman. 

I just can't understand that she hasn't figured that out herself.

If I gave her the full truth… No. I can't. She would never ever trust me. She'd always think I was trying to manipulate her. And those lines are blurred enough already. Even for me. When is it manipulation, and when am I just giving things a little push in the right direction? My direction. I don't know what gets into me. She acts like a nuclear disaster and I become increasingly angry until I truly want to give her the beating of her life. Again. But then, as I feel her soft body against mine and watch her full lips quaver mere inches from my face, I can't stop myself.

She's only human.

' _ Only.' _

She's so, so human and I grasp for that piece of humanity with a desperate desire to make it mine, to put my hands on it and feel it in my palms. If I can hold it, if she'd let me, then maybe one day… maybe I could BE it.

I do feel a response when I kiss her. I feel that instant knee-jerk reaction of want, which sometimes strikes like lightning, oozing off her, bouncing back and forth between us. Just for the briefest moment before she fights it down. But I'm not gonna rub it in her face. That'd be the wrong path. She's a delicate soul.

I felt it, though.

I felt it.

I'm sure I did.

God, I want to take her in my arms as she sits in front of me, curled up by the wall, and whispers early memories of our daughter: her birth, her first words, when she crawled, walked. Her first wounds, her furious reaction when Lisa had to say no the first time. I smile then. I recognize myself.

Finally, she's quiet. She fiddles with the hem of her jeans and it's obvious that she can't quite stand to meet my gaze all of a sudden. Deciding to give her the slack she seems to need, I get up, grimacing as the knee makes itself heard. "I'm gonna check on Cecilia."

She looks up. Her eyes clear. New. All the former anxiety in them gone. "Can I go with you?"

I frown. I just don't get her right now. "Of course you can."

She fights her way up to standing, then she sags a little and wince. "Ow."

"What?"

"My ankle."

I give out a short laugh. "We've beaten each other up pretty good, haven't we?"

She doesn't look all that amused as she regards me. "I guess we have," she mutters.

An uncomfortable silence spreads between us as we head back to the living room. Cecilia has passed out on the couch, like I thought she would. I barely remember her from today. I barely remember today. I slept. I had a fever. Sitting down on the edge of the couch while Lisa sits down closer to our daughter, I try to feel of I'm ill or not. I feel better, I decide.

Lisa is making cooing sounds. "Oh, my poor baby, you had to fall asleep all alone out here and mommy was so mean to you… oh, my God." She puts her hand over her mouth and I see that her lower eyelashes glisten yet again. 

I roll my eyes.  _ Leese, you know nothing about abusing children, do you? _ What a blessing to be so unaware of how fucking ugly life can be for some. But I don't think that'd be an argument that would cheer her up.

"And we didn't get to brush your teeth," she continues.

I have to hide the smile with a yawn.

I remain on the couch as Lisa lifts the little one and carry her into the bedroom. She takes her time, but finally she comes back out, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed. I believe she's been fucking crying again. What the hell? I can rough her up pretty badly, and she doesn't even make a face, and then she can sneer, once, to her offspring and it breaks her?

I don't get it. I don't get HER. Sometimes I think the world that separates us is too big, even when we're stuck together in the middle of it.

She remains standing on the carpet in the center of the room. "It's stopped snowing."

"I noticed."

"How do you feel?"

"Better."

"Oh."

"Disappointed?"

"Ahm… no, I… I wouldn't have helped you if I didn't mean it!"

I grin. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you're just a better person."

"Oh, I'm sure I am!" She flashes a brief smile and again I see a hint of Old Lisa.

I sit up better, suddenly longing desperately to touch her. I'm so tired of fighting. "Come here."

She takes a hesitant step closer. "What?" Then she sits down on the edge of the table, just out of my immediate reach.

"Are you afraid of me?" I frown and chew on my lip. I don’t want her to be. I understand if she is. I wish she knew me, the me that isn’t a total fuck-up.

She regards me for a long time before answering. "A little, yes."

My heart sinks, but I grasp at that she’s just ‘a little’ afraid. "What are you afraid of?"

She swallows hard. "Ahm… that you'll hurt me… again… I think…"

"Hurt? Or...  touch?"

She seems to shrink before my eyes. "Both," she answers with a small voice.

"Can I just hold your hands?"

Her fingers thread in and out of each other and she squirms. "Maybe," she whispers.

Victory. Small, but undeniable. I shuffle closer until I sit before her. Then I take her hands in mine and just hold them, my thumbs slowly stroking the sides of her thumbs. She stiffens and becomes rigid, but after a while the air seems to leave her and she sags before me, swaying slightly.

"Tired?"

She nods. "You're still warm."

"You're cold."

She stiffens when I lift my arm to push a tendril off her forehead. I stop in mid-air before I make contact. When she starts breathing again, I carefully caress her hairline with the tips of my index and middle fingers. She's so soft. I remember that.

From before.

I lower my hand and let it rest on hers again. "You're beautiful, Lisa," I say and smile. She is, and I doubt that this woman would ever want to get to know the real me. As she wriggles her hand out from beneath mine and tie it into a fist in her lap, I know she won’t ever want to get to know me. Not after all I’ve done. 


	18. From Hell a Human Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from 'Auguries of Innocence', by W Blake.

"You're beautiful," he says.

I shake my head. No, I'm not. I'm disgusting.

His fingertips touch my cheek. His caress is lighter than a feather as he softly strokes along my jaw and then down my throat where I'm sure he must feel how hard my pulse beats. Goosebumps spread rapidly along the side of my neck, causing my whole spine to tingle. I look into his eyes, barely able to keep my gaze locked with his. I'm not beautiful. I'm ugly. I'm repulsive. He, on the other hand, is so, so beautiful. His eyes glitter and a soft smile plays at his lightly parted lips. It is as if he's directing a beam of light, want, need, and desire towards me, and me alone. It calls to me, pulls me closer, transfixes me. I want to stay in its center and remain there, safe, loved. I lean into his touch, I can't help myself, I'm pulled to the promise of closeness, the opposite of hurt. It stings somewhere deep inside as I remember Airport-Jackson, before all the bad things started to happen, THIS is the man he was.

The man I thought he was.

_ His blue eyes turn colder than hell and the softness around his mouth turns into pure cruelty. _

I stiffen, frozen, unable to defend myself from the onslaught of memories. They nag, burn holes in my soul, erode me and make me sway, tossing me violently between comfort and pain.

His fingers leave my cheek and grip carefully around my hands, pulling me closer, urging me to comply. I'm here, not there. It's now, not then! He's different, he's changed. His thumbs massage my knuckles, rubbing circles on them, making my skin burn.

_ I cry out when he slams my arms up above my head, uncaring to the pain that ripples through my shoulders. _

Then, then, then!

Pulling me even closer, wedging my thighs between his, his eyes roaming my face, he then smiles. Victoriously. Beautifully. I don't know if I'm strong enough to resist what's about to happen. He's given me the most, and he's taken the most. In my life. Ever. No one before I met him has meant more to me. How can I deny him? Maybe I do belong to him and have just never realized it until now?

"I want to kiss you, Leese." His voice is raspy and thick and it makes me shiver.

I don't say anything. But I don't back away either. Eyes, so familiar, and yet so strange, seem to study me as he moves closer. His gaze is still locked with mine as his lips touch my mouth, softly, not intrusively. He feels the same… and still not.

_ His whole body is pressed against mine as he kisses me again, forcing his tongue into my mouth. It's a rough kiss, our teeth collide and it seems as if he steals the very air from my lungs with his sinister passion. He tastes unfamiliar, masculine, clean. _

"Kiss me back… Please." His face is blurry and my mind spins, the plea is such a soft whisper and his breath is warm on my mouth and chin.

_ I… I can't… _

The scent I know so well intrudes my every pore, fills my nostrils, and assaults my senses. He smells so good. Soapy. Musky. Familiar. I lick my lips and accidentally touch his. Jerking slightly when his hands leave mine and touch the back of my head, I breathe harder, feeling my heart's irregular beats.

_ I'm not sure… _

He pulls me to him more forcefully until there's no return, no backing away. With still soft lips, though now more demanding than before, he presses his mouth to mine, separating my lips with the tip of his tongue. I gasp and feel my mind spin faster and faster. He feels good. He is warm, tender, vulnerable, somehow safe, and yet so terrifyingly dangerous. How did we end up here? My brain refuses to stop the increasing whirl of panicked thoughts and memories. I see him now, I see him then, I see him as a twisted image from too many dreams, and I see the other one, the first rapist. 

And I know I'm damaged. I can't… It doesn't work… it'll never…

I'm afraid.

" _ Just relax, Leese. The more you struggle, the more it'll hurt." _

_ NO! _

"MMMmmmm!" I grunt into his mouth and push at his chest until he lets me loose. He pants, his lips wet, full, newly-kissed. I gasp and try to control my racing heart. "I- 'm sorry," I hiccup, unable to meet his searching gaze. "I don't think… I…" I try to get up, but he grabs my wrists and keeps me seated before him. It sends yet another surge of panic through my system.

"What's the matter, Leese? Hey… look at me." He grasps my chin and forces my face to remain still.

My eyes dart up to meet his and then I look away again. He radiates something… something I can't understand… won't… He wants something I can't give. Something he can possibly take… I might even let him if it came to that… But I'm not sure I can give it.

Ever.

"Leese… we were… that was… ahm… What's going on?" He pants hard.

_ Like me. _

I inhale deeply and let out a shaky breath. "I- I can’t."

His intake of air comes so abruptly that it makes me jerk. "Leese! Damn! I'm not gonna… ever again! Do you hear me?" He suddenly lets go of me and stands. I cower, staring down at my feet. I don't know if he's angry or not, and what he's going to do now.

"Yes," I say unhappily. "I’m… I’m just…  I'm letting you because I'm afraid of what you'll do if I refuse… I think." I swallow so hard that it hurts, biting my lower lip, flinching when I feel his taste on it, foreign, salty.  _ Oh, my God. _

He breathes heavy, irregular. "Okay," he says then. "That's not good… Okay." Backing up first one step, and then another, he rounds the table and starts pacing the room. "We-"

It's not a scream. It's a whimper, and then a series of coughs, raspy, raw, sounding as if they hurt the little chest that has produced them.

I'm up and he's already by the bedroom door in no time at all. Jackson remains standing as I fall to my knees by her bed. She's sleeping, but there's a faint gurgling from deep inside her chest with every breath and then, as we watch, a new set of coughs wrack her little body.  _ Oh no, oh baby! _ All my previous problems suddenly feel so insignificant. I caress her forehead and find to my shock that it's sweaty and hot. Too hot.

"She's burning up!" I glance up at Jackson in despair and he comes closer, settling himself at the edge of my bed.

"Is she ill?"

"I think she's sick, Jackson! Oh my God, What do we do?"

 

**From Hell A Human Soul**

We take turns sitting by her bed, watching over our daughter as she tosses and turns in her sleep, her forehead sweaty, her silky hair damp and curled at the neck and around her face. None of us has been sleeping. It's Lisa's turn to try. I watch over my girls.

The kiss lingers still. I find myself tasting my lips time and time again. The rejection struck harder than I'd have thought. 

_ 'Because I'm afraid.'  _

_ Fuck! _

I realize I'm going to have to let it go. Let her go. I already feel the vastness of the empty life that lies ahead. It won't be very pretty and I doubt I can take another shot at doing something else, being someone else, ever again. 

It's just not worth all the… fuss.

Sitting on the edge of Lisa's bed, my gaze wanders from the little one to the adult and then back again. No matter what happens from here on, I feel blessed. Right now, in this moment, I have been touched by angels. People like these two don't happen to people like me.

But here we are.

Here I am.

At this moment in time we are like one, united in our concern. I wince, thinking about what I did, to her - before - but there is also the almost impossible equation with Cecilia as the result, the result of what I did to Lisa.

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling a flutter in my chest. Examining it closer, I realize it's worry. I'm worrying. I never 'worry'.

"Jackson," she whispers.

I jolt. "Yeah."

"I'd never have pictured you…" She licks her lips and gives me a smile. Brief, but warm. "I'd never have thought you'd be sitting like this… you know… That you'd care."

I grin back. "Makes us two."

She tosses and turns and tries to find the least uncomfortable position. The same does our daughter before yet another set of coughs pierce the night. The sound is harsh, raspy, tearing her little chest in pieces. When the cough finally subsides, a heavy snoring replaces the earlier noise.

"I'm so worried," she says and looks up at me as if I could help.

"She's never been ill before?"

Lisa shakes her head. "No. Never."

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Just a cold." I don't know if I believe it myself, but I have to say something.

"Oh, God!" Lisa clasps her hands over her mouth and a look of terror fills her eyes.

"What?"

"I let her play outside the other day and she got wet and cold. We stayed out too long, she was so happy to play in the snow and-"

"Leese. You've got to stop fuckin' accusing yourself. You're the most devoted mother I've ever met."

Her eyes narrow as she regards me, for a moment distracted from her concern. "And how many have you met?"

"Ahm… Hm…"  _ What the fuck?  _ I can't think of any. I think of my own. I barely knew her. Not much to think of.

"I figured," she says. Her tone has an edge to it. Not hostile, though… maybe slightly bitter.

I think again. No. No mothers. No children. If they aren't targets, or related to targets. I think of Erica Davenport. Her motherly instincts, or lack thereof, pissed me off badly. Had I known before what I learned when her kid stood right in front of me, then I think I would have mutilated the bitch for all the things she'd done wrong. "Like I said: you're the most devoted mother I've ever met." I flash her a grin, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn't seem to work very well.

She sits up next to me, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, letting them dangle next to mine. "I can't sleep. I'm too anxious."

"Aw, come on. SHE doesn't benefit from having an exhausted mother tomorrow," I say quietly.

"How much have you slept yourself?" she whispers.

_ Nothing.  _ I don't answer.

"She doesn't benefit any more from having an exhausted father tomorrow either," she says and frowns, shaking her head.

The world comes to an end. 

Stops. 

Then the wheels slowly start turning again. Slowly. Then faster. Faster. And we're back. She's there. I'm here. Things are as they were, except for one little thing that has changed. One word. Just one word. I'm stunned. I think it takes her a moment longer to realize what she just said.

_ You just called me her dad, Leese. _

She suddenly stands. "Ahm… I'm- I'm gonna go and make some tea. You want some?"

I take her hand and urge her to stay still. She's always running. Always escaping from something, or someone. Always on the move. "Let me. You stay here and watch over her, 'kay?"

Weary-eyed, she nods thankfully and makes herself more comfortable by the little bed, hanging her forearms over the edges of the cradle, leaning close to our daughter.

Our.

_ Damn! _

When the fuck did all of this happen to me?

 

**Restless Worry - Elisabeth Anderson**

"Stephan."

Her husband stops his snoring for a moment, then he turns in his sleep and continues his deep sleep, not a worry in the world disturbing his peace.

The case is the opposite for Beth. It's been three hours since she went to bed, and thirty-three hours since she sent off Ray into the snowstorm. The green digits on the clock on the bedside table change slowly, one minute passes, then another, and another. Outside the wind keeps howling. Like hungry wolves. She shudders; she never much liked the wind. Or the winter. Glaring at her husband's sleeping form, she clears her throat. If she can't sleep, then he won't either.

"Stephan!"

"Mmm."

"I'm worried."

"Mmmmwhat about," he mumbles uninterestedly. The bed rocks as he turns over on his other side. Away from her.

"Ray. I haven't heard from 'im since I sent him off to look for that young man who was supposed to stay the night here."

"What young man?" he asks and yawns.

"A handsome, really polite man who came by yesterday afternoon, asking for a room. Said he couldn't continue drivin' due to the storm."

"Can't blame 'im," her husband mutters.

"But he suddenly left, took a left turn out of the parking lot and disappeared… I asked Ray to go look for him… and now they're both gone! I just have such a bad feelin' is all… There's not much out there that way, ya know… I just don't get where they all went to."

"Ray's probably back with Ida long since, Beth." He pulls the blanket tighter and scratches on the eczema on his left cheek.

"Don't scratch."

He stops immediately, clenching his hands to fight the eternal itch. "So what do ya figure? Did ya call Ray on his cell?"

"Yeah, yeah… I did… the connection is broken."

"Mm, that always happens when weather's this bad. You tried calling Ida? "

"Yes, no one's answering! I shouldn't 'ave-"

"He's fine Bethy. He knows these woods like his back pocket. He grew up here ya know. And 'sides, he's a big boy; he can take care of himself." He yawns again.

Elisabeth pulls the blanket up to cover her shoulders, the wind ripping through the walls, stealing every ounce of heat out of the room. "Ya're probably right…" But she isn't convinced. Staring at the roof, she listens with increasing annoyance to her husband who has clearly fallen asleep again, his heavy snoring rumbling through the room.

"Stephan."

"Mmm.. WHAT?" He starts, jolting awake before he falls back onto the mattress. Then he scratches his cheek.

"Don't scratch! Jeez! Tomorrow ya're gonna have to go looking for 'im. Ya know ya'll 'ave to plow yar way all the way to Ida's if ya need to."

"Okay, okay. 'kay, honey. I will." He slides down under his blanket again, lifting his hand as if to scratch before he changes his mind and tucks it under the blanket. Better not wake his wife's rage; she gets really bitchy when she sets her mind on something. If the weather is as bad tomorrow, then he's most certainly not risking his life out there. If it clears tomorrow, sure, then he'll check in on Ida and chat a little, make sure Ray's there.

His hand hovers in the air, and then it descends on the silhouette of her slender shoulder, caressing its way down the slope to her waist before he pulls her to him. She squirms closer and moans quietly. She may be bitchy, but she's his bitch, and one fine sample as it is.

As she turns to him and melts into his arms he can't help that his thoughts keep wandering. Ida. Ray. Snowstorm. Missing. Damn. Hell, he'll probably have to eat her damn cookies… And Ray's gonna yap-yap-yap about his birds. Well, at least the old hag knows how to make some damn decent coffee.

If it doesn't clear… For peace at home he'll at least drive around the curb and sit and listen to the radio, and have a beer or two, for a couple of hours over at Carson's.

His thoughts shatter as his wife's warm hands slide under his boxers and his whole body stands on alert.

Bloody hell. More of drama in her life would make Stephan a happy man.


	19. Propinquity

He has shoved the couch all the way along the wall again until it covers the door to our bedroom. No one is locked inside the room, though. This time the door is wide open and Jackson and I sit next to each other, wrapped in blankets, each sipping a cup of strong tea, staring at our daughter's restless form as she tosses and turns in her sleep. Sometimes she wakes with a hoarse cry that tears the heart right out of my body. We take turns calming her and I don't feel any jealousy when he holds her and she calms in his embrace. Not anymore. 

The night is slowly turning into early morning as we listen to Cece's snoring, to her sniveling and her uneven breaths and the cough that seems to thicken in a way that I don't like at all. I suddenly feel so fundamentally stupid. I made the biggest mistake in my life when we moved here. I've made us so vulnerable. Just look at us now. HE found us anyway, and now, that she is sick, we're stuck behind endless heaps of snow, seemingly impossible to make our way through.

But we'll have to.

As the self-illuminated digits on the clock on my bedside table flip from 4:59 to 5:00 am, I realize that we have to leave. It's impossible to stay here not knowing how ill she's going to get, and so far away from all help. I don't care what it looks like out there, we have to take 'our asses back to civilization' as he so eloquently put it. I hate to admit that he might be right about something.

I glance at him, the man who almost killed me once, who raped me, and stalked me across the country, even past its borders. He is silent and pale, his hair hangs in his face but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyelids are heavy but I know he is no more asleep than I am. I hope I can convince him to take us back to town. Where we'll go from there I don't know. Right now it all seems so petty. Petty problems. Cecilia is sick!

"Jackson," I whisper.

He stirs and turns towards me.

I look into his pale blue eyes, the light from the kitchen in the back reflects in them and make them glow eerily. He doesn't scare me anymore. My heart makes a sudden leap at the unexpected recognition.  _ You don't scare me anymore. _

"Yeah?" he answers hoarsely, his voice unused in the last hour.

"How did you get here?"

He frowns. "Why?"

"Just tell me. Did you come in a car? Where is it now?"

He snorts. "Probably buried and unrecognizable, but yeah, I had my car."

"Where is it now?"

An amused smile suddenly lingers just under the surface of his features. "Why? You plannin' an escape?"

"No." I shake my head. I don't need him to start distrusting me again. Not after all this. Not now. "No. WE, all of us, need to get out of here. As soon as it gets bright enough outside I think we need to try to leave so we can get her to a doctor."

He shifts and sits up straighter. "You figure? You really think she's that bad off?"

I suddenly feel so infinitely small. "I don't know. How can I tell? Her temperature hasn't decreased in spite of the Advil I gave her and… I don't know. But I don't want to wait and see and then find out that it was the wrong decision."

He regards me for a long time. "Okay. Alright. I left my car, maybe half an hour's walk, or a little more, down the road, not far off from the box. It's a sedan, don't know how it'll manage through the snow, though."

_ The box? Oh… Ray… _ I swallow hard and the still raw sorrow tears at my chest. I push it back down. I can't change what happened. And right now I need this man. I need his help. I nod. "Okay. That's good. Ehm… it'll probably take us longer, carrying Cece and with all the snow. I mean it's stopped snowing… and I think the wind has decreased too. It's realistic, isn't it?"

He nods. "Sure it is."

"Will you help us?" I ask, suddenly shy, blushing slightly. It's dark. I doubt he sees it. I hope he doesn't.

"Help? Hell! Of course, Leese. I don't want anything bad to happen to her any more than you do. We'll leave as soon as we can see where we're going."

I sag from the relief. "Thank you," I whisper.

When it's been decided, all my nervous, worried energy leaves me in an instant and I can finally rest. Pulling my legs up under the blanket, I occupy one end of the couch and drift to sleep while Jackson sits next to me and guards our baby. It should be so ironic, laughable even, but there's nothing to laugh at. He has really turned into her father tonight. I don't know what to make of that, but my brain is too fried from all the concern and these last few days lack of sleep, so I don't even try to think harder about it.

It is as it is.

 

**All That Is Left Behind**

_ Leave, huh? _

I was so tired that I thought I'd fall asleep at any moment, and now I can't stop processing what she said. My brain finally starts working again after the wintery hibernation and the oddly slow, and yet turbulent, life of these last few days. The wheels start turning and I virtually feel all the little synapses sparkling to life in every nerve ending. As I watch her sag more and more until she lies like a little curled up animal at the far end of the couch and her slow, even breaths tell me that sleep has finally claimed her, I start making plans. 

So, we'll have to wait until it gets bright. Then we'll find all the clothes we'll need, and eat. Hopefully we'll get the little one to eat as well, but she should be the safest one on this journey nonetheless. It's Lisa and I who'll have to fight our way through the hell out there. The white hell.

The car isn't too far away. I'll bring matches, or a lighter, or maybe oil, for the lock, just in case. Then we'll be good to go. There's probably no doctor in Middlebro… maybe in that place I passed before… Sprague. Lisa might know. She SHOULD fucking know, choosing to settle in this godforsaken place.

Something turns colder inside me as I realize that Lisa is a vulnerability I can't afford. 

My analytical mind, the one I pride myself on having, starts processing the situation. She has turned into a liability and she could easily put me away for life. For Ray, if not for anything else, but definitely for Ray.

That can't happen.

The thought than I can kill her crosses my mind, but I reject it as quickly, appalled that I even considered it. I know already that I won't hurt her. I'll let them live of course. I’ll rather die myself, to be honest, before I let anything evil happen to these two remarkable ladies. I'll drop them off outside a doctor's office, or a hospital, or whatever we'll find, and then I'll be on my way. Before anyone sees me, before anyone starts asking questions.

The decision calms me somewhat. It's a relief to have made up my mind. I stand up and stretch my limbs, touching my tender shoulder. It feels less strained but I'm gonna have someone look at that. 

And the knee. Fuck. The knee will be hell to walk on tomorrow.

Listening to Cecilia's breathing, I finally pull the blanket tighter and curl up at the other end of the couch, opposite Lisa. I can't remember when I was this tired. Ever.

I wake with a jerk. It's eight o'clock. Still dark. There it is: the sound that woke me. More coughing, and a small pathetic whining, coming from the little body in the bed. I sway when I stand, then I carefully lift her frail feverish form and try to soothe her, rocking her slowly in my arms like I've seen Lisa do. Against my chest she feels no larger than a small bird in a hand. 

How can such a little life, having lived less than two years, without anything significant to say, with no skills, and with the table manner of a dog, still mean so much?

I glance at Lisa. She seems to be asleep and I decide to leave her alone. If she doesn't even wake up when her daughter cries three feet away, then she definitely needs her sleep. I feel such regret that it almost chokes me. Tomorrow at this time I won't be with this little kid anymore and I probably won't be able to be this close to her ever again. Right now she trusts me and I relish the moment.

I know all too well it won't last.

I'm not gonna ask Lisa not to call the cops on me. I have some fucking dignity. I'll just leave. And she'll be SO happy, now won't she?

Cecilia's eyelids becomes heavier and heavier until she's asleep again, her head leaning heavily against my chest. I give her an extra little squeeze before I put her down again.

Turning to look at Lisa, I see that she's sleeping on the edge of the couch, one arm hanging loosely in the air, and that there's space behind her. A smile pulls at my lips. Well… what the hell is she gonna do? Slowly, slowly, I slide in behind her until I have her back pressed against my chest. Then I cover us both up with the blanket. Her waist is so insignificant in my grip. She's like our daughter: so insignificant in size and yet…  _ so _ much more. I let my hand fall close to her chest, close to touching the softness she harbors there. 

I fall asleep with my arm snugly fitted around her body and a heavy feeling of imminent doom following me into my dreams.

She doesn't even stir.

 

**White Hell**

The first moment when I wake, I'm not sure where I am. I don't recognize the surface I'm laying on, the fabric of the blanket that is covering me and - I stiffen and stop breathing - there's an arm around my waist, a hand on my belly, and a body pressing me to his from behind me.

I know exactly where I am. 

I just don't know how I got here. 

Or how to get out. 

I swallow hard to push down my heart from my throat back into place. I take a moment, reaching inside to see what it is that I feel. It's not fear of him hurting me again. It's fear of trusting someone and having it ripped away. I don't know which is worse. Physical pain I can deal with. The other kind… I don't know.

_ Cecilia!  _ My first instinct is to slam his arm off me and jump up, but knowing I'll need his help today, I don't think that is such a good idea. I try to slither out instead, without stirring him awake, but my moves are jerky and uncontrolled and I don't think I'm doing a very good job. The muscles in his arm tighten and he holds me back. My heart beats faster as I turn to him, my face inches from his. He's too close! 

"Ahm… I'll check on her." My voice trembles.

He holds me a moment longer, then he lifts his arm and the warm blanket. "Of course. Go ahead."

She's hot. Her gaze is drowsy and her eyes glazed. "Wate," she rasps and then the coughing starts again. She IS ill for real. I shudder. We need to do this.

I busy myself mainly with Cece while Jackson packs everything we think necessary. The most well-dressed will be our daughter. I don't have any decent boots, neither does Jackson, and his coat isn't exactly made for outdoor activities. We grunt orders to each other throughout the morning: remember to take this, don't forget that, open that cabinet, pull that out… short, efficient words, working together like a team.

She's awake but limp, doesn't say much, refuses to eat but drinks a little. She scares me to death. 

Jackson sees my wordless plea and our preparations speed up. 

He rummages around in every little corner of my house, finding everything that could be useful, while I make some breakfast for us. I pack a few sandwiches for the trip too. We eat standing, wolfing down as much as we can manage, the heavy lump in my stomach doesn't allow me more than one sandwich.

I bandage my left ankle with strips torn from my last sheet while he does the same with his left knee. The sight would have been laughable if it hadn't been so serious. I'm nervous about going out into that inferno. I'm concerned about Cece, and I'm worried about what will happen between Jackson and me once we get back to town. I know he killed Ray. Murdered. He knows how much I know about him and I doubt he's a man who cares much for getting caught. 

I wonder where that puts us. Where that puts me. I'm gonna have to be careful.

I’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

"After you."

I look up at him. He's holding the door for me and the little breathing package in a red checkered blanket in my arms. His eyes are coolly regarding Cecilia and me, just a little more unreadable than usually. I wonder what he's thinking. Does he believe that I'll try to run from him? 

I don't know. 

Right now I couldn't care less if he's around or not. I just want Cecilia to get well.

"Thanks," I say and take the first step out on the porch. The sky is still heavy and the clouds bluish gray, looking like they'll drop more snow on us soon. At least it’s calmed down and it is beautiful outside; the snow completely untouched, innocent. Deadly. I shudder and look up at him. "Jackson… we should go."

"Yeah." He lets the door slam shut with a very final sound. 

I glance once behind me, wondering if I’ll ever return to this place, and then we turn towards the blinding whiteness. I jerk when he suddenly takes a long stride to the left and blocks me from seeing behind him. But I did see something. I caught a glimpse of a snow covered heap, human length, just down the stairs and to the left. 

_ Ray. _

In a flash I remember what a dangerous man he really is, what he is capable of. I, or we, have been living in an almost dreamlike state these last days and nights, but this is reality. This is who, what, he is. He shakes his head warningly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"I'm… I'm not going to try to run," I say. “I can’t change-” I nod towards Ray’s body. “-what happened. Neither can you. We have work to do.”

He nods and licks his lips. "I know. Let's go."

The snow reaches to our knees but it's freshly fallen and light and fluffy so it isn't the worst it could be. It's worse when it has partly melted and then freezes again, then it's almost impossible to plow through.

I take the lead since I recognize the landmarks. Between those two tall trees, that rock to the right, down the slope. I carry Cece the first few minutes but soon my ankle starts throbbing, and it gets increasingly difficult to cope with her extra weight. I pant and break into a sweat and we haven't walked farther than down the first slope and onto the road. My arms feel too heavy and I have to admit my defeat and let him carry her.

We're faster when I'm not stumbling around, playing tough and independent, but he has such a concentrated and focused look on his face that I realize he has to be in pain too.

I had some very faint hopes that the road would be easier to walk on but since no one has come or gone, the white layer is as thick there as anywhere else. Frowning, I have to stop and try to get my bearings right. There's a huge tree lying across our path, and I have trouble knowing in which direction the road continues, then I realize that we must have walked past Ray's drop-off spot already and that this should be where the side road begins.

Everything gets distorted in the white.

Fighting our way through the bushes at the side of the road, we finally pass around the tree and that's when I realize that the main part of it actually covers the first portion of the side road.

"Jackson."

"Hm," he grunts.

A worried flutter makes my heart beat harder. "Where's your car?"

"I parked it just after-" He's slower than I am with Cece in his arms and when he comes up next to me I look at him, trying not to scream. "Oh," he says. After silently regarding the inferno of branches, the broken trunk of the tree, and the piles and piles of snow that covers the large twisted crown, he hands me our daughter. "Take her." Then he forces himself with surprising vigor through the heaps.

"Be careful," I shout at his disappearing back. He turns briefly and flashes me a wide grin and then he's gone.

I wait. Worry. Cece is too heavy in my arms. After a few minutes I see something stir in front of me. Then I hear a string of what can only be described as profuse, very R-rated, cursing. I feel almost nauseous with concern. This doesn't bode well.

When he finally comes back, covered in snow from top to toe, he doesn't look happy at all. He looks as if he could kill somebody, to be honest.

"What happened?" I breathe.

"No car," he mutters.

I shake my head, I don't understand. I don't want to understand. "Why?"

"Because there's no way in hell to get it past the tree!" he exclaims. "Where does that road lead to?"

I look at him in despair. "It's a dead end- RAY! Ray must've come in a car and we haven't seen it yet. It must be further do-"

"I've seen it," he growls.

"Whe-"

"It's under the FUCKING tree!" He looks like he's close to losing it, then he shoves his hands through his hair, his ski cap falling to the ground, and turns away from me.

_ Oh, no! _ I have to sit down. My head spins and I close my eyes. "What do we do?"

He suddenly sounds all business as he turns back to me. His cap is back on his head. "Well… either we go back to the cabin and wait-"

"Wait? Wait for what?"

"-or we continue by foot."

I stare at him, then I look down at my daughter's flushed cheeks.  _ Not wait! _

"We walk."

"It's far."

"I know."

"It's gonna take us all day."

I nod towards the woods. "There's a shorter route through there, we'll have to walk across the mountain… it'll take us half the time, though, because the road goes all the way around."

He raises an eyebrow and studies the tree line. He looks a bit sceptic. “Are you sure?”

I nod. 

"Let's go then." Lifting Cece out of my arms, he nods in the direction I pointed out. "After you, my dear."


	20. Climb A Mountain

It's not easy. The road was easy, this is insane. I have trekked here a lot, during spring, summer and autumn. Autumn is my favorite season, the beauty in the decay, and the slowing down of everything that lives, soothes me somehow. But that was during snow-free seasons. This is different. Having no idea how the ground looks under the snow, we stumble over rocks, roots, and branches. Through the clouds we see the sun like a pale, silvery coin, flickering, unable to warm the earth even the slightest. But at least it helps me with direction.

And it goes up, up, up. It doesn't take long until I'm flustered, and soon there's a thin sheen of sweat on both our faces. Jackson carries Cece the most. He's the stronger.

"Stop," I pant. "I have to stop. My ankle… and I… have no… breath." There's nowhere to sit but I have to sit down before I fall into a heap of exhausted limbs, so I swipe furiously at the snow on a flat rock, getting enough off to find a stony surface underneath.

"You can't sit there for long or you'll catch a cold."

"I have to sit or a cold is the least of my worries," I pant.

"Finally, you have the perfectly right take on things," he smirks.

"Pfft." I hiss at him and slump forward, my arms resting on my knees. My heart pounds hard and everything aches.

"We have walked for about an hour since we left the road. How far do you figure it is?" he asks and stomps to keep his warmth.

I shake my head. I can't talk. Not yet.

He hands me our little sick baby and for the hundredth time this morning, I check her pulse, her breathing and her color. Her cheeks are rosy, but it could be the cold. Maybe she's breathing a little calmer. Just as I look at her, her large blue eyes open and her pained gaze shoots straight into my heart.

"Hey, tiger," I whisper.

Jackson comes and sits himself next to me. "How is she?"

"I'm not sure. How are you feeling, honey?"

"Wate," she rasps, and then her gaze searches our surroundings. "Snow?"

I dig in my backpack and pull out the bottle, placing it at her lips. "Yes, sweetie, we're getting you to Doctor Regis."

"Ai-ai," she says and lays a little gloved hand against her chest.

Her pain transfers to me immediately. I hurt when she hurts. "I know. I know."

"Jack?" she whispers and my eyes widen. My gaze darts to him and I am stunned by the response I see in his face. It's as if it's been lit by a light somewhere deep within. And it's just… beautiful.

"He's here, Cecilia." I hold her up so that she can see him. And then I say it. "It's not 'Jack’, honey. He's your dad. Jackson is your dad." I can't look at him after that, the need to leave him alone with the moment too overwhelming. He stretches his hand to her and she wraps a little finger around it as she coughs. Then she smiles and her eyes flutter half shut.

Jackson frees himself from her hold and as I glance at him I see that his face has once again become an unreadable mask. "It's time to move on, Leese."

I nod. I couldn’t agree more. "Do you want to hold her," I ask shyly.

The corner of his mouth suddenly pulls up and his eyes are lit again. "Sure." He hugs her tightly to his chest and we start moving again. The climbing gets to both of us and nothing is said for a long time. "When do you think it evens out?" he finally pants and hands me our daughter who has fallen asleep again, blissfully unaware of her parents' struggle.

"Soon, I think," I say and change grip. She's already too heavy for me and I've only walked a few yards with her this time. "On top of the mountain it'll even out for a while before it starts descending.

"When we get up there we need to make a real stop, Leese. Drink and eat."

I can only nod.

And we continue our trek.

**Sacrifice**

I'm seriously concerned for us all. Lisa is exhausted. My knee hurts so bad that I want to vomit, or commit murder, whatever would feel better at the moment. Cecilia worries me too. It's cold and we're moving constantly, half a day has passed since we woke up this morning and she sleeps and sleeps. In spite of our tumultuous, hostile surroundings. That can't be good.

In a way it feels right that we are in fact doing something about it and that we're not only sitting passively, but on the other hand I'm wondering if we aren't committing suicide. We reach the plateau and the walk gets a lot easier once we don't have to walk up, up, up and fucking up.

' _ Jack?'  _ She fucking asked for me. Well… she'll forget about me as easily. ' _ Jackson is your dad.' _

I'll never forget her.

Lisa glances at me and inhales. Then she shakes her head and remains silent.

"What?" I say, happy for any distraction.

She inhales again. "Why Jackson? Why have you been coming at me? I still… don't understand! Why is it that you say you 'want' me…" Her voice trails off and she keeps her gaze trained on some invisible goal far in the distance. “No,” she adds quickly. “Never mind.”

I glance at her and then back at the cold, white wetness as I sigh inwardly at the decisions I've made. "You have to admit it, Lisa. We had something, you know we did. It was there." I want to touch her so badly. My hand hovers in the air close to hers, but I can't. 

I don't.

She doesn't answer, but her silence is answer enough. "Was, yes," she finally says. "I admit that. A long time ago… But I guess you managed to ruin that pretty good, huh?"

"I… yes… I was so fucking mad. At the time. All the time… I wanted to beat you, to let you know…"

"To let me know?" she asks. I glance at her as she stumbles and then regains her footing, changing her grip around our sleeping daughter's form. My whole body tenses as I ready myself to catch her if she falls. She looks up at me, waiting for me to answer her question.

"Who beat who?" I mumble, my answer coming out as a question, more to myself than to anyone else. 

She raises her eyebrows. "And you did, Jackson. You beat me. Does it feel good?"

I shake my head. But I don't think she sees that. No, it doesn't. I deflate. It doesn't. It hasn’t for a very, very long time. I've lost everything. Everything that ever mattered to me. And I can only blame myself. Maybe I could force her to become mine, somehow work her, manipulate her. But that's not how I wanna play it. I don't want to play at all, actually. I know I'm going to have to let them go. Shut down. Shut them out.

I can live with it.

' _ Live.' _

I realize this is my gift to them, my sacrifice. I'll take them to safety and then give them their lives back. This walk through the mirror image of Dante's inferno will redeem me, help me forgive myself if no one else does. "Is this the top of the mountain?" I need to focus on something solid, something I can still work with, something still in my grasp. "We need to take a real break."

She nods and moments later she carefully lowers Cecilia in her blanket on a spot I've stomped out for her.

"It's official," I say as I drop the backpack to the ground, more than half of it disappears immediately. "I hate snow. I'm never again going any-fucking-where where there's snow in my life! Ever!"

“I am prone to agree there,” she sighs.

I start unpacking. Coffee, two mugs, two sandwiches each, a bottle of water, and a second blanket. In the bottom of the backpack there are two sandwiches left. For Cecilia. And that's all there is. I glance up at the wilderness and pray silently that we won't get lost. And that Lisa knows where we're going. I eye her suspiciously. I really hope she knows the way.

Now that we've stopped and seated ourselves at the edge of Cecilia's blanket, mugs with steaming contents in our hands, and a few chews in on our first sandwich, I realize how wet, cold, and deadly tired I am already. And I started this with a not only good physique, but great. Lisa must be so much worse off, but she isn't complaining the least. 

Her hour of a thousand questions doesn't seem to be over yet, though, and with some newly found energy, she starts again.

"Why did you come looking for me in my father's house? Wasn't it all lost then?"

I close my eyes for a moment before I answer.  _ Give me strength. _ "Lost what?"

"The 'cause', the bombing… or whatever. It must've either taken place already… or not. What was the point in coming chasing after me?"

I clench my cheeks, reliving the pain, the blinding fury directed towards her after having the pen shoved into my throat, when she wiped the floor with me, as if I hadn't been the professional and she hadn't been the victim, but rather the opposite. "I snapped. It wasn't rational… I admit it." I close my eyes and turn my face to the sky, trying to stay in the presence and not go back there.

"If… ahm… I ever see you again… do I have to be afraid… will you 'snap' again?" Her voice is hesitant, careful. "If… uhm… if you'll let us go, I mean," she breathes, her voice trailing off until the last words are barely audible.

"Leese!" I frown as I look at her; her dark eyes are wide and full of questions. "No! Yes… Fuck! I don't know how I can ever convince you!"

She looks away. "Me neither, to be honest… I'm too scarred."

"I know," I mumble. "I don't know what to do about it."

"Maybe we are?" she says softly and glances at me again.

"Huh?"

"Maybe we are doing something about it?"

I turn my head and regard her. Then I nod.  _ Yeah, maybe we are.  _ "We should continue." I stand, suddenly uncomfortable.

Lisa doesn't even nod. In minutes we have everything packed and are on the move again. It's my turn to carry our child. I cradle the little life to my chest and take a deep breath. Then we start walking again.

 

**Redemption**

Everything aches. 

Everything. 

My feet, my ankle, my legs, my back - definitely my back, my shoulders, my head, my heart… I glance at Jackson. He looks just like I feel.

And I'm wet. My legs and my back are soaked. Wet. But I'm warm-wet, because of the effort. Only my feet are cold-wet. Ice-cold wet. And I keep slipping-sliding in my rubber boots. What genius part of my brain made me throw away my good winter jacket and my boots when I entered my kitchen window that first night? When I tried to kill him. With a log, a knife, poison… Well, not really poison… But he just kept on living, and now I thank whatever God there might be up there. Maybe all things happen for a higher reason? I could never have made this journey on my own… but hadn't it been for him, then I'd have had a working car… if it would have made it through the snow. No. it couldn’t. Not past that tree. 

_ Aaargh! _ I don't know any more. Everything has gotten so complicated.

Funny how long ago that seems, when I climbed in through my kitchen window. The days and nights have melted into each other and I'm not even sure how long he's been with us anymore. Forever it seems. Maybe he has really been with me forever? Maybe it was always us? Ever since I first met him I've never been fully free of him, not since the moment I looked into his eyes, turning towards him in the check-in line and lost track of time and place, and had to lie and cheat myself free from the spell. I had to because the pang of attraction was immediately replaced by guilt and loathing. 

Self-loathing.

Funny how long ago THAT seems. Since his arrival here I haven't had the time, or the energy, to dwell on those old things. Or on anything beyond him, me, and Cecilia. Things have just… happened, and I've had to live them.

I shake my head. I'm exhausted and can't think anymore. 

It's straight ahead on the plateau for a while now, and then it's downhill. We should have a couple of hours left to walk. I have no energy left whatsoever, but Jackson's relentless marching and Cece's flushed face gives me that extra boost I need every time I feel like just giving up.

"I think we're through the worst," I pant.

He gives me a pale grin. "That's good, Leese. I'm beginning to lose my feet completely."

"What?"

"My shoes aren't exactly cut out for this."

"Oh, my God! We have to take a look!"

"No."

"Bu-"

"No! We move. That's the only thing we're gonna do. No rest. No looking."

My eyes narrow as I regard him. My heart trembles from the tone of his voice. He's worried. If HE'S worried… "Okay. Down through there now. Here, let me take her."

He hands me Cece. She squirms and moans. I lay my cheek against her forehead and feel the lump of fear grow in my throat. She's hot. The adrenaline gives me new energy and we keep walking.

"Whoa! Hold it!" he suddenly shouts.

"What?" I ask and glance up from under my ski cap that has slid too low without me even noticing it.

"Are you sure this is the straightest way?"

I follow his straightened arm which is pointing at a sudden slope where the ground seems to disappear into a white nowhere, a ravine, maybe thirty feet deep and fifteen feet wide. I take a step closer to get a better view, but his arm snakes out and stops me as I stagger and slide. 

"Careful! You want me to take her?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine…" But I am confused I don't remember that this was here… but then again, maybe I've never been all the way up here before…

"Are we on the right path at least?" he asks with an edge to his voice. 

I look up at him, his eyes are dull and tired and he's gnawing at his lower lip. Then I raise my gaze to the sky; the clouds are heavier, a deep dark blue-grey. There's more snow on the way. I close my eyes and think of the directions. I'm good with directions, always have been, it's like I have an inner map that I follow, a compass guiding me through the terrain. God, I wish I had a similar built-in device for everything else in my life. 

"Yes. It's that way." I point right across the ravine.

His eyes narrow. "Are you sure?"

I nod.

He takes a couple of steps closer to the edge and glances over it and then across to the other side. "Seems to be a partially frozen river down there. We can't get across it here. Do you know where it leads to?"

I shake my head, my mind rapidly filling with dread and despair. This is it. I can't take this. We can't pass and I just don't know what to do. We're not going to make it. I'm so tired. I just want to sit down and-

"Leese!"

I look up at him, unable to hold back the tears. "It's no use," I whisper. "I can't… go on."

He turns fully towards me and takes one long stride. "Get your act together, woman," he growls between clenched teeth. "We're in this together. We started this. We endure, and we FINISH!" 

His hands squeeze my shoulders so hard that it hurts and a tiny jolt of fear surges through me at his hard gaze, but it gives me a very much needed rush of renewed energy. I nod at north-east. Up along the ravine. 

"If we go that way we'll either find a place to cross, or we'll come across the main road sooner or later."

He regards me. "Upstream it is then."

As we continue in the new direction, along the steep edge, I glance at him. I have hated him with every fiber in my body and now… I couldn't have done this alone. Even with the car, the worry for Cece… I can't imagine having no one to share it with.

"Jackson, I… thanks fo-" 

I scream as I suddenly lose my footing in my stupid rubber boots and begin to slide on my back down the steep slope. I keep screaming as my body stops with a violent jerk when something hooks onto my clothing, but I lose my grip on Cecilia and she is jerked out of my arms and continues down the slope, sliding, swirling. 

A little mewling packet in a checkered red and blue blanket.

"CEEEEEEEE!"

Jackson is a blur of limbs and dark clothes as he flies past me and disappears over the edge at the same moment as Cece. 

For a second everything is absolutely still and quiet. Then I tear my jacket to shreds when I free it from the root it has stuck on and slide down to the edge. I'm absolutely numb. Not a thought, not one emotion comes through in my dazed mind. 

Then I hear a cry and a roar and Cecilia is suddenly pushed up right next to me. I grab her little body, holding her tight. She's crying, terrified, cold and wet. I can't separate her shrieks from my own wailing as I rock back and forth, clutching her to my chest, waiting for Jackson to climb back up. I lose track of time as I dwell on what happened, and what could have happened, my mind repeating how she slid and disappeared, over and over again. The pain is indescribable, and my brain doesn't stop the screams of terror until long after my mouth has gone silent.


	21. Nobody's Business

Finally, I lift my head and look around me. Where did he go? 

Everything is still. Just as I raise my gaze to the tall dark trees behind me the first flakes of snow hit my nose. They are of another kind - wetter, larger, and the forest gets increasingly dusky and silent.

"Jackson," I say, hesitantly. Everything is quiet. I clutch Cecilia hard to my body and stand carefully for the first time since I fell. "Jackson!" I call. A little louder. No answer. Did he leave us? A claw of a new kind of fear nips at my already battered heart. "JACKSON!" I cry and Cecilia stirs in my arms. A ghostly echo rolls over the mountain. That's the only answer I'm getting.

I stand absolutely still, at a loss as to what to do. I don't understand. I slip and slide, fighting my way up the slope. Then I wedge Cecilia behind a rock, making sure she lies safely before I, with violently trembling legs, walk all the way down to the edge. The ravine is cold, beautiful, and quiet. In the bottom I see the half-frozen river with cascades of ice crystals along its sides in gracious formations and the cold black water hurling in between and underneath.

I feel physically ill. Where is Jackson? I lie down prone and slide further to look over the edge, terrified that I'll fall if I slide too far. I follow the trail of ice, the frozen formations down there, and then something disrupts the vision, a dark speck on all the white. Frowning, I stare at the object. Realization comes slowly, it's as if my mind is as unmoving as the world around me.

It's a ski cap.

It's a dark grey ski cap. Jackson wears a dark grey ski cap.

Wore.

A sudden wave of dizziness rolls over me and I hold on hard not to topple over. As I stare at the piece of fabric, it is bit by bit covered in snow until there's no trace of it any more.

He fell.

He's gone.

I'm alone.

I'm alone. In this desolate forest, I'm suddenly left alone. My heart pounds so hard that it feels as if my chest is going to explode and I struggle to inhale. I panic when I can't feel my hands and stare at them, clenching and unclenching them to try to find them again, to see if they're still attached to my body. And then I realize that he's GONE! I don't know what to do. Still on my knees in the snow the cold has started to leak through to my skin and a shudder ripples across my back. A whimper from behind the rock higher up on the slope startles me.

_ Get up, Lisa. Get UP! You continue. And you FINISH! _

His words ring in my ears as I struggle back up to Cecilia, lift her from her cold cradle and start walking, turning my back to him, wherever he is.  _ Dead.  _ I shake my head and keep walking.  _ He's dead, Leese.  _ My legs march to the rhythm of my heart, faster, faster, downwards, faster.  _ He's gone.  _ Legs. Snow. Heavy weight in my arms. Walk. Walk. Walk. Focus. I try to grab on to some of his strength, repeating his words, his last testament to us.

_ Continue. Finish. _

I lose track of time. I don't feel anything but the little body I'm carrying, the burning exhaustion in my legs, back, arms, and the numbing cold. I know that we're going to die out here too. And that it's all my fault. I made the decision to move here. I made all the wrong decisions.

Early signs of dusk are creeping upon us and the air is getting increasingly chilly. I stagger and stumble. I can't continue. I'm lost. It's no use. We'll die. I can't even muster enough energy to care about that.

"Lisa?"

I'm dreaming that someone's calling my name. I don't recognize the voice. A man's voice. Funny. I would have thought that it'd be my father… or my grandmother. Not some stranger. I fall on my knees, I think I'm still holding on to Cecilia, but I can't feel my arms anymore. I can't feel my body.

"He's dead," I croak.

"Ray's dead?" Another voice.

_ Ray? Who's Ray? _

"Let me take her." Someone takes the weight out of my arms and I clutch the air, knowing I've lost something important.

"Get her in the car."

"Careful."

"Lisa! Lisa! We need to know! Where's Ray?" 

I think I know that voice. Anderson. Mr. Anderson. Ste- Stephan? Yes. Stephan. I see the heap of snow before my eyes. Heap of snow. Ray-shaped snow. "Cabin," I whisper.

"Steve! Take them to the hospital. Fast as fuck. They're frozen blue. We'll go find Ray."

I'm moving, rocking, a humming sound, soothing. A car?  _ CECE! _

"She's right next to you, Lisa. We're taking you to the hospital. You're lucky to be alive."

I didn't even know I'd said something.

_ Cold. I'm so cold. _

Light.

I close my eyes again. I squint hard and open one eye just a tiny crack.  _ Light! _ I close it again. 

Someone's sitting on my chest. I inhale, try to inhale, try to expand my chest, but it's impossible. Then I fight to breathe through the eruption of coughs that follow. I need to open my eyes. Who's sitting on my chest?

Light. Hard, white light. Snow? No. Not snow. White ceiling.

I'm alone. If no one's sitting on my chest, then why does it feel so heavy? A soft, steady beeping penetrates my snow-filled mind and a stream of cool air fills my nostrils. Panicking, I tear at my face and end up with a thin plastic cord between my fingers.

"Lisa." The voice is soft, female, caring. "Lisa."

I open my eyes to stare at a woman I've never seen before, and a white ceiling that I have seen before. I recognize her voice. I've heard it in my dreams.  _ Cecilia! _ I gasp and try to sit up but her hand is stronger. "Ce-" I rasp. I cough myself sweaty and not until my chest calms down can I hear her again.

"She's doing fine, Lisa. She's in the pediatric ICU but she's a strong girl, she's doing fine." She reattaches the cord to my face and adjusts it. "Don't take this off, honey. You need the oxygen."

"I need to see her!"

"You need to get well, but we'll arrange for her to be brought here. You're worse off than her actually. You're really lucky to be alive."

I stare at her. I'm not the one who's ill. "What?"

"When they brought you in you were critically hypothermic and you have developed bilateral pneumonia. We had to support your breathing the first night."

_ The first…? _

I try to sit up again but she holds me down. "You need to take it easy, love. You need your rest." She adjusts something where bags of fluids are connected to lines that disappear into bandages on my arms. "We'll bring her to you a little later today, okay?"

"How long have I been here?"

"You've been comatose for two days. Today is your third day here."

_ Jackson! _  "Have…" I lick my lips and fight the intense urge to cough, I need to ask this. "Have they found him?" My voice wavers pathetically.

A fleeting look of pity passes over her features. "Your friend was found under the snow right next to your porch. I'm sorry." She lays a hand on my arm and holds it there, for comfort, to keep me still. "You've been through a lot."

_Next to my porch?_ _How did he get there?_ Then I realize she isn't talking about Jackson.

She clears her throat. "Actually, there's someone who will be very happy to hear that you're awake. Officer Petit has requested to see you on several occasions."

The door falls closed with a whisper. 

The curtains are half closed. It's dark outside. Officer Frederic Petit is a misnomer. 

I lay my hand protectively over Cece's sleeping form in the bed next to me as the hulking giant of a man invades the room. Taking off his cap, he pulls a visitor's chair closer, scraping it across the floor, the sound cutting painfully into my overly sensitized mind. He is surprisingly graceful as he folds his body into a sitting position before extending a hand to me.

"Lisa Reisert. I'm terribly happy to see you awake." His voice is deep and husky. He sounds like a friend, like a father would. I suddenly miss mine so much that my chest tightens and I grimace from the pain. I wet my dry lips and give him my hand. It disappears completely in his large paw.

"Do you need anything? Water? Ehm…" He looks around him and then back at me.

I shake my head. "No. I don't need anything."

"Are you sure?"

I have to bite my lips to not start crying. "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks."

"Miss Reisert, there are some inconsistencies in your story. For instance we've found that you have never been married. Yet you have told everybody that your husband was after you. Why is that? I don't understand."

"He… yes, I thought it'd be easier. I didn't want people to know… to ask."

"About the attempted assassination on Charles Keefe?" he asks softly.

"Yeah… that," I whisper.

"You've been through a lot these last years. The Miami Police have kindly assisted us with our investigation. We believe that the recent events may have some connections with your background." His eyes narrow as he glances from me to Cece and back again. "Are my assumptions correct? Is there something more about your background that you wish to tell us?"

_ No!  _ I shake my head and hold his gaze. "No."

"Ray McGonaghan has been found dead outside your house. Everything indicates homicide. Miss Reisert… we need to know what happened. Who killed Ray?"

For a moment I'm back there, tied up, screaming at him to leave Ray alone. I fight against the memories. They hurt. "His name was Jackson Rippner… he's the same man who threatened me into changing Keefe's suite that night… who tried to kill me and my dad later… and…"

He nods. "Go on."

"After… Keefe… and after he, Ja- ehm, Rippner… got away… I kept seeing him around… he kept following me and I knew he would come after me sooner or later… so that's why we moved here."

"Somewhere in all of this you had a child."

"Yes," I say, defensively.

"Where's the father?"

I don't miss a beat. "I don't know."

He doesn't miss a beat either. "You don't know?"

I shake my head. "After… I became reckless… I blamed myself… drank too much… you know… Suddenly, I realized I was pregnant." I grimace and try to mix my real pain into the lie. The pain I felt then, the pain I feel now.

He frowns, and a brief look of concern passes his features. Then he nods and scribbles.

"My father died, and I moved. I didn't feel safe. And then I moved again. Here. I thought we'd be okay…" My voice trails off. My chest feels so heavy, so tight. I try to inhale but end up fighting for air through endless sets of coughs. Finally, I fall back onto my pillow, sweaty. Tired. So, so tired.

Officer Petit clears his throat and hands me a glass of water. "I am sorry that I have to put you through all this, but it is necessary for the investigation."

I nod and drink a small sip. "I want to help. Did you find him yet?"

"What happened, Lisa, may I call you Lisa?"

I nod.

"Did he try to kill you?"

I shake my head.

"Why is that? I'm sorry- He waves his large hands in the air. "This is all a little confusing to me. Are you saying he didn't try to kill you?"

I clear my voice. How am I going to put this? Lies are at their best when they're closest to the truth. "I think… I think he wanted me… to be with me…" My voice trails off. "And I think Cecilia's presence made him restrain himself."

He frowns. "An assassin who develops a conscience… Huh. How long was he with you?"

I bite my lip and try to think. "I'm not sure… the days melted into one another… maybe three days."

"Three." He regards me and his intelligent eyes seem to look right into me. He looks like a teddy bear, friendly, harmless, but I suddenly know that his looks are deceiving, that he is very good at what he does - a frightening opponent for those who oppose him. "What happened between the two of you during all this time?"

"Ahm… the first days… two maybe, I tried to… ahm…" I blush. "Kill him… several times." I glare defensively at him. "I had to try to get away."

He nods and doesn't say anything. It encourages me somehow, that he isn't judging me. "The last day, Cece got sick and I begged him to help us get back here. At that point I didn't care about what he did to me, what his plans were or anything… I just needed to take her to safety. And he did. He helped us."

"What did he plan to do once you got back into town?"

I shake my head slowly. "I have no idea, Officer… and I never asked. I think I was afraid to ask, actually."

"Tell me about when he left you."

I shudder, reliving the horrifying moment, fingering the soft skin on the back of the little hand that I'm holding. "Cece fell - I fell and dropped her - and she slipped over the edge of the ravine… and he… and he… threw himself after her, caught her somehow and pushed her back up." I swallow back the tears. "That was the last I saw of him. I think he must've slipped… and that he fell into the river."

"That… Or he found a convenient escape," he adds.

I grimace. My head spins.

_ Maybe. _

_ Maybe not. _

I know what I think.

The door slides open behind him and my nurse for the day enters. "Officer! Is this really necessary? You have by far exceeded your stay for today, look at her, she's exhausted! You'll have to come back another time." She rushes to my side and pulls a little at the sheet, adjusts some fluid bags and fiddles with something I can't see, showing clearly that she wants him to leave.

He takes the hint and stands. Cap in hand. "I'll need to come back tomorrow."

I hold his gaze. "Did you find him?"

He shakes his head. "Only the ski cap at the bottom of the ravine, and some smeared blood right next to it. We're looking further downstream. We will find him. If he's there, we'll find him. Don't you worry."

"That's not what I'm worried about," I say slowly.

"If he fell into the water he's dead, Miss Reisert. He wouldn't last more than five minutes in that river. We'll keep looking. For closure. But I doubt he's coming back."

"Okay," I whisper and smile meekly. That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried that they will find him. And that he'll still be alive. And I don't know who I worry about more.

Him.

Or them.

When I wake, he's sitting patiently by my side, his hands folded in his lap. A day passed already? I attempt a smile. "I must be such a good witness," I croak. "You always know where to find me."

He smiles back briefly but doesn't answer.

I fight my way up to a half-sitting position, regarding him curiously. There's something he wants to get off his chest. I feel it. I fear it.

"This man, ehm…"

"Jackson," I whisper tiredly. "Rippner."

"Jackson Rippner. Right." He scribbles something on a piece of paper. "He ehm… doesn't seem to exist."

I look up at his scraggy features, his stubble is longer, and somehow grayer, than yesterday. "What do you mean?"

"The fingerprints we found on the knife in your kitchen, as well as on other surfaces in your house, don't match any registered felon, or anyone else for that matter who has ever passed through customs, been in a car accident, been arrested for pickpocketing… anything."

I frown. "So then… that just means he hasn't been arrested, right?"

"Not only that. The name Jackson Rippner doesn't exist."

"Bu- I mean… there must be someone… you mean no one?" I'm at a loss as to what to say. How can a name not exist? A person. A real person. HIM.

"It doesn't match anyone, living or dead."

"But then…"

"It's like he has never even existed."

"But he does!" Suddenly I'm worried he won't believe me. That the hell I've gone through will appear to everyone else as a twisted spark of my imagination.

"We have fingerprints, unaccounted for, a dead body, your statement. We'll keep looking further downstream when it gets bright again. If he's out there, we'll find the man who did this to you, and to Ray."

I nod. "Thank you." But it's not what I mean. There's no time to mourn. Mourn? I mean… work through the trauma. Mourn? I don't know what I mean. When I think of him, I don't see the rape any more. I don't see the stone cold manager on the plane, or the furious murderer. I see a father. A man. A man I could have known, and maybe more… had things been different.

When she's older I'll try to explain to her who he was - to the best of my knowledge. We're free. But it's not how it feels.

"We've stopped the search, Miss Reisert."

One or two more days have passed. I’m not sure. It’s hard to keep track of time here.

"You don't think you'll find him?"

"The river is empty all the way down to the lake which is frozen. There's no use in keep on looking."

"You do believe me, don't you?"

"With all the blood in the house that matches neither you nor Mr. McGonaghan, the bloodied men's clothes, the car next to Ray's… yes, everything indicates that things happened the way you described them."

I fall back against the pillow. "Good."

"And I read your journals."

I stiffen and stare at him in horror. "You did WHAT?"

"We had to exclude you as a suspect, Miss. Reisert. Initially things looked a little… bleak for you."

I'm too shocked to respond. Everything is in there. All the things that I've never told anyone else.

He nods at Cecilia who is sleeping peacefully next to me, her fever gone, her chest rising and falling evenly. "She's HIS child, isn't she?"

I look away, my eyes brimming with tears.

"Why didn't you tell us? Did you have a relationship with Jackson Rippner?"

"God no!" I exclaim and look back at him.

"Then tell me. I'm a simple man. Sometimes I just don't understand."

My heart pounds. I don't know how to tell him. I don't want to tell him. It's nobody's business.

"Did he rape you, Lisa," he asks softly.

I stare at my tightly knotted hands and then I nod once. “You know it already if you read my journals, Officer.”

"You haven't reported any rape. Other than the one almost five years ago. Why-"

"Because there's no use!" I suddenly snarl. "Because you don't do anything anyway! And I just couldn't stand going through it all again. To no use."

He is quiet for a while and all that is heard is Cecilia's light snoring. "You kept the baby," he says quietly.

I sigh deeply. "Are you gonna question that too? Does that make me more or less suspicious?"

He waves his large hands in the air. "You are not suspected of anything. Not anymore. I just don't understand all the lies… You said you had been married, you said you didn't know who the father was…"

I bite my lower lip and think on the answer for a while. "Life has taught me to be careful, Officer Petit. I have a hard time letting people in."

"There's a difference between people and people, Miss Reisert. And lying to the police is never wise." I flinch when I feel his hand on mine, calloused, gigantic on my tiny, claw-like hand. "You have something beautiful there." He nods at Cece. "And you are finally free."

I look at her, then out the window. "Am I?" Then why doesn't it feel that way? I know that what he says is true. I just don't know why it doesn't feel like a relief, but… empty.

My things are packed, toothbrush, and a few clothes that Mrs. Anderson kindly bought for me. The bed is made. Cece is playing on the floor with some borrowed toys and we are waiting for the doctor to release us.

There's a knock on the door but it isn't the doctor. It's Officer Petit. He holds a bag in his hand and drops it on the bed as he remains standing. Cecilia looks up and regards him curiously, then she seems to decide that he isn't what she was looking for and continues with the doll and the plastic yellow truck. Petit pats her head and shuffles his feet, looking awkward, uncertain. 

"I heard they're letting you go now," he finally states.

I smile briefly and nod.

"Ahm… I brought your journals. I thought you might want them. They're all there." He waves with his hands towards the bag.

I clear my throat. "Thank you." I don't know if I even care about them. They're just words on paper. Sad words on crumpled paper. I know what they say. I was there.

"So… where are you going to go, Miss Reisert?"

I look out the window, at the falling snow; the dusky day is grey, sad and suddenly I long intensely to warm yellow sand and white-hot days by the sea. "I hate snow," I whisper.

"I'm sorry?"

Startled to find that I still have a visitor, I realize he asked me a question. I look back out again. "Home," I rasp.

Then I clear my throat.

"Home. We're going home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes part 2. Next installment is Grace. I hope you enjoyed.


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